#coa 1

[sirenjose]

Call of the Abyss 1

This is a repost of my COA 1 analysis.

COA 1 Trailer transcript

(Trailer begins at timestamp 1:19: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=voPFd6efJUM)

A sea as calm as a lake. Makes people forget about the storm for a moment. Not even a stone could make a single ripple on the sea. But it can create waves in the hearts of the people.

“Somewhere in the world… are treasures buried that all desire.”

The journey of pursuing a dream never had flaws. But this journey leads to challenges. One day… The journey will be forgotten. Even if there is only one person, who will reach the destination. No one ever doubts their direction. Intertwined and colliding dreams… will turn into wings and survive the most terrible storms. In front of them… even the sharpest wind and rain will become dull.

At the end of the journey you will find a treasure, But there is still evil lingering at every corner! Go, write your own story.

Go! Become a legend!

The main characters of COA 1 are Pirate Captain and Caged Butterfly.

Pirate Captain: His only purpose in life is to find that unique gift for his beloved. He never thought that it would be met with disgust and disdain.

Caged Butterfly: She loves that innocent Asian lady from the Madame Butterfly and thought she would find a love that was more genuine, but she never thought that her fate would be as bleak. The vast ocean devoured her sailor and devoured her everything.

Pirate Captain is in love with Caged Butterfly, his “beloved”, who he spends all his time searching for “that unique gift” for her. Caged Butterfly also likes Pirate Captain, but he doesn’t make his love apparent enough to her. We know this from Leo’s Telescope accessory, which says before he went out searching for treasure, he looked toward where his heart was, meaning Caged Butterfly, but “never took a step in that direction”. All Caged Butterfly sees is him spending all his time out on the ocean on various voyages rather than with her. This is why Caged Butterfly says the sea “devoured her sailor and devoured her everything”. This connects with how, once Pirate Captain did eventually retrieve the gift he was looking for, why he says he was surprised to be met with “disgust and disdain”. He was surprised because he hadn’t understood how Caged Butterfly was feeling about him constantly being gone and spending all his time out at sea. She thought he didn’t care about her and only wanted treasure.

Telescope: Before searching for treasure, the captain would use it look out into the distance looking for where his heart lies, but he never took a step in that direction.

Caged Butterfly’s feelings about how their relationship is going connects to Caged Butterfly mentioning the story of Madame Butterfly.

This story is about a girl that falls in love with someone who doesn’t love her the same way. He simply chases her like one would a butterfly. He sees their marriage as temporary until he finds a real American woman to marry (instead of Madame Butterfly, a Japanese bride). Eventually, he does leave and marry another woman, who he brings with him when he comes back for his and Madame Butterfly’s child. Madame Butterfly had remained loyal until she sees his new wife, at which point she attempts to kill herself (the opera version has her succeed, while the short story has her stop after being reminded of her child).

The comparison to Madame Butterfly’s story would explain why Caged Butterfly says “she never thought her fate would be as bleak”, as she had hoped for “a love that was more genuine”. She had hoped her love with Pirate Captain would be this “more genuine” love. Unfortunately, Caged Butterfly feels the same way as Madame Butterfly, as just a “butterfly” that is to be chased, but that he doesn’t actually love her. She is mistaken though, as Pirate Captain does actually love her, with Vera’s Iris accessory likely coming from Pirate Captain. My reasoning here is because iris flowers in real life can attract butterflies and would thus tie in to the Madame Butterfly story as well as Caged Butterfly’s misunderstanding about Pirate Captain.

Iris: The caged butterfly will never forget the fragrance of a flower.

Caged Butterfly thinking someone doesn’t care for her when they actually parallels how Chloe (Perfumer) mistakenly thought the same regarding the real Vera (Perfumer’s sister), which was why Chloe killed her. Leo being in love with Martha Remington who leaves him and eventually gets killed off parallels Pirate Captain, his love for Caged Butterfly, and Caged Buttefly’s eventual fate I’ll soon discuss. The disgust and disdain expressed by Caged Butterfly towards Pirate Captain also accurately parallels Martha’s comments to Leo in Emma’s 5th deduction.

Deduction 5: Little Girl's Diary 2: Father and Mother quarreled. Mother said that father's clothes were always dirty. Father didn't say anything

Back to the story, someone else has learned of the relationship between Caged Butterfly and Pirate Captain.

I’m referring to Pirate Captain’s first mate, Jack as Stern Mate and Manta Ray Mate, who’s noticed Pirate Captain’s love for Caged Butterfly. He wasn’t happy about this. The first mate wanted Pirate Captain to focus on being a pirate and looking for treasure. He felt the captain’s infatuation was a ridiculous waste of time and only made him weak.

Stern Mate: He wasn't willing to live under the command of any one person, especially not someone like this captain smitten by boring romance.

Manta Ray Mate: He persisted in that throwing the butterfly to the depths of the ocean was the best way to awaken the captain. But in the end, he didn't think it was worth losing that treasure.

So, to “awaken the captain”, he decided to “throw the butterfly to the depths of the ocean”. Based on Madame Coral mentioning she woke up in a cage sinking to the ocean floor (from translations of other versions), Jack likely tried to drown her by first putting her in a cage before trying to drown her. Jack also mentions losing a “treasure” at the same time. This was likely Vera’s Sea Snail accessory (called a Conch Shell in other versions). This is important because it is said to be capable of “resurrection”. Caged Butterfly being “reborn” as Madame Coral parallels how Chloe took Vera’s (her sister’s) identity and became “Vera” instead. The conch shell is also said to grant “eternal youthful looks”, which is likely why Pirate Captain was looking to give this gift to Caged Butterfly. It may also connect to how, once Caged Butterfly becomes Madame Coral, why both Deep Sea Turtle and Sharkbite mention a woman that they are helping (Deep Sea Turtle says he’s never seen someone as beautiful as her, while Sharkbite describes her as “worth protecting”).

Madame Coral: She awoke in a prison next to an oceanic volcano and realized that her body merged with the coral. The water was hot enough to burn flesh, and her heart sank to the depths.

Sea Snail: According to legend, only the sea snail is capable of resurrection. Eternal youthful looks is something countless people desire, but it would seem that this one has lost its luster.

After he sent Caged Butterfly to the ocean depths, the first mate successfully “awakened the captain”, as Pirate Captain becomes Golden Sea Monster. This occurs because of the captain’s grief over losing Caged Butterfly, which left a hole in his heart. To attempt to fill this void, he begins focusing on finding treasure (gold, based on his name). Due to this transformation, he begins to be described as “terrifying”, as we see from Pirate Spotter and Blacktip. Pirate Spotter potentially came from a different ship that was defeated by the captain and forcefully recruited (aka, join or die), which could be the sort of thing Pirate Gunner is for. Blacktip apparently is fighting the captain, based on Sharkbite’s description, for Madam Coral (possibly for revenge, partially because they may be competing to find the treasure or eye first).

Golden Sea Monster: Which pirate doesn't adventure for the chance to claim countless treasure? Forsaking everything for the sake of gold, filling the empty void in their heart.

Pirate Spotter: His self-proclaimed title of "spotter" always gave him a sense of pride. That was until he encountered that fearful captain of the Sea Monster.

Pirate Gunner: This sharpshooter only wishes to further improve her marksmanship on the open sea.

The first mate’s actions and desire to wake the captain up parallels the actions of Jack’s bad side towards his good side, as the bad side slowly gains more freedom and control, with the 2 merging by the end of his deductions.

Pirate Spotter being with a different crew but forced to join parallels the Church forcing Kreacher to give them his orphanage, as well as how he has to stay on their good side as they are shown willing to have him arrested on theft charges to get him out of their way.

According to Golden Sea Monster, he is searching for “countless treasures”. This may be where the COA 1 trailer comes in, as it mentions “somewhere in the world… are treasures buried that all desire”. This would line up with the 1st stage of COA 1: Bottle Throwing Ceremony, which is likely based on the real-life tradition that is meant to bring good luck and safe travel when a new ship is launched. The “treasure” that “all desire” is referring to the “eye”, which could be the reason everyone “desires” this “treasure” enough to go looking and fight over it. This would also mean everyone’s destination (that “somewhere in the world”) is R’lyeh, the last stage of COA 1.

R’lyeh is a sunken city in the Cthulhu Mythos where Cthulhu sleeps.

One of those I think that is looking for the eye is Madame Coral. The reason I say this is because (according to translations of other versions) her mind (or heart) fell to the abyss (in Chinese, it uses the same characters for abyss that are used in “Call of the Abyss”).

We know she was freed from her cage based on Deep Sea Turtle commenting on her walking “alone on the seabed”. Clownfish was likely the one to free her, as she mentions it “does its best to get everything ready and to accompany her” when “Madame Coral is reborn from the seabed”.

I believe Madame Coral could’ve also been looking for the eye based on Deep Sea Turtle and Lava Tortoise. Deep Sea Turtle implies she asked him about a certain “treasure”. This can’t be the conch shell, as she doesn’t need it to bring anyone back (Pirate Captain isn’t dead. She was the only one that had to be “reborn”). Lava Tortoise adds that this “ultimate treasure” was sunk “long long ago”. The conch shell was sent to the ocean’s depths with Caged Butterfly, so it wouldn’t have been “long long ago”. From what we know about R’lyeh (as it is really old according to the original Cthuhlu mythos), and how it is called “ultimate”, this is likely the treasure the COA 1 trailer is referring to, the one “all desire”, aka the eye.

Deep Sea Turtle: During his long life he has never heard of any treasure, nor has he seen a woman as beautiful as her, she who walks alone on the seabed.

Lava Tortoise: To find the ultimate treasure that sunk there long long ago, he searches endlessly in the volcano on the seabed for Madame Coral's gem. He hasn't even noticed his shell beginning to expand and crack due to the lava.

Lava Tortoise mentions he was searching volcanos on the seabed for this treasure. The mention of “volcanoes” combined with the “coral” referenced by Madame Coral I believe can be used to further connect to R’lyeh and the idea she was looking for the eye. R’lyeh is said to be located deep down in the Pacific Ocean, with a number of coordinates putting it at the Pacific oceanic pole of inaccessibility (the furthest point from any landmass). One of the coordinates puts it about 10 days from the real island of Pohnpei (Ponape), which in the Cthulhu mythos had the “Ponape Scripture” (a text that described Cthulhu). Pohnpei is a volcanic island surrounded by an outer barrier reef (connecting to the “volcano” and “coral” mentions).

Also, the fact Lava Tortoise calls it a “gem” could connect with Parasite, who makes a comment about the “eye-shaped gems” in his skin. I discuss this more in my COA 2 analysis, but the eye in Infected looks very similar to the evil eye in Evil Eye Host. There’s also how Infected warns against staring at the eye for too long, which connects to how Margaretha was corrupted and became Vile Blossom after seeing the evil eye open.

Infected: Those red eyes really make one's hair stand on end, so don't stare at them for too long.

Parasite: These eye-shaped gems make his skin glitter... they are so shiny!

I mentioned earlier that Blacktip was fighting the captain. I think this may connect to Madam Coral having Lava Tortoise look for the eye. It’s possible she’s trying to compete with Golden Sea Monster to see who can find the eye first. This would go along with the COA 1 trailer which talks about this journey for this specific treasure as a competition or race. I also think, due to their proximity to the abyss, along with Madame Coral, both Lava Tortoise and Sharkbite gradually become corrupted. This would go along with how Deep Sea Turtle becomes Lava Tortoise, or how Sharkbite is mentioned not to die but “faded away”. This latter one can connect with Pricking, who is also being corrupted and is trying to use pain to “remind herself not to be consumed”, as she even adds “but how long could she possibly last? Maybe the abyss is where she truly belongs”. I think this exact thing may be happening to Sharkbite, which we know can happen as Madame Coral’s mind apparently already fell to the abyss.

Blacktip: His body is covered in scars from his fights with the terrifying captain. They regarded each other as mortal enemies.

Sharkbite: The old soldier is not dead, but has just faded away. But before his time, he found a woman worth protecting.

Pricking: She tried to use pain to remind herself not to be consumed by the corrosiveness of the enemy’s mark, but how long can she possibly last? Perhaps the abyss is where she truly belongs.

Another group I believe looking for the eye involves Kurt and Helena.

Kurt as Voyage mentions he wants to “uncover the mysteries of the abyss” and thus, to do this, “embarks on a voyage”. This “voyage” is likely the one Helena as Last Vacation and Good Old Times “blindly embarks” on, as she didn’t “check the destination of the vessel” she was boarding. She even adds she doesn’t know “what kind of voyage awaits her”.

Voyage: If there are times when you long to uncover the mysteries of the abyss, why not put on your backpack and embark on a voyage!

Lost: Life is a long voyage. As long as you have a lighthouse in one's heart, you won't lose your way.

Last Vacation: You should always check the destination of the vessel you are about to board. It is doubtful Helena knows what kind of a voyage awaits her.

Good Old Times: When recollecting the past, you can learn from past mistakes, for example, don't blindly embark on a journey.

From looking at Jack’s 2 Osprey skins as well as Tracy’s Shipbuilder skin (who based on how she isn’t called a pirate and has no pirate symbols on her, I think she could’ve been with Kurt and Helena), they likely encountered Golden Sea Monster. 

Fog Osprey: You would never want to encounter it, or him, when a fog appears on the open sea or envelops a port.

Red Osprey: Within the dense fog at the harbor an inauspicious color will sometimes arise.

Shipbuilder: It is necessary to have a reliable ship mechanic on a long voyage to ensure the power generator runs smoothly. You never know when you might need to outrun a sea monster.

Shipbuilder mentions a “sea monster” which is the same term Pirate Spotter uses in reference to Golden Sea Monster.

Fog Osprey and Red Osprey warn about an encounter with “it, or him” at a harbor or on a foggy “route” (according to other translations). The dangerous “it” or “him” that people “would never want to encounter” matches with how the captain is referred to as “terrifying” (or it could be referring to his first mate, who we know is willing to kill to get what he wants). 

A bit more of a side note, but the “fog” could be a reference to Pirates of the Caribbean, as fog always seemed to accompany the Black Pearl wherever it went. This includes near the beginning of the movie when it attacks Port Royal, or even at the very start when young Elizabeth sees it pass by right before the other British sailors spot the wreckage of the ship the Black Pearl destroyed. There’s a good chance Pirates of the Caribbean is somewhat of a basis for COA 1 based on the similar stories (pirates, cursed treasure, different groups of pirates, etc…), as well as similar characters (Pirate Captain and Golden Sea Monster seem fairly similar to Davy Jones from the 2nd and 3rd movies).

Osprey’s mention of a “route” could also point to this happening during COA 1’s 2nd stage: New Route.

Navigator is one of those helping the captain reach the treasure “all desire”. Translations of other versions mention (something along the lines of how) he has a map in his eye that “hides a secret many seek”. The part about something “many seek” matches up the treasure referenced in the COA 1 trailer. I think the reason he has this map (as well as why his skin is blue unlike the others, with a supernatural eye) could connect to Pirate Doctor, who in other versions is referred to as a witch doctor. Other versions seem to have her description say no one could hold their own in front of her, a witch doctor, not even the captain. It’s possible she’s the reason Navigator became what he is and got that map. Maybe it could relate to whatever is in Emily’s Pirate Flask accessory, which apparently isn’t “ordinary medicinal liquor”.

Navigator: Even though he only has one eye, he still sees what others wish to remain hidden; things that others long to know.

Pirate Doctor: A ship full of pirates and there is not one among them who can keep it together in her presence, not even the captain.

Pirate Flask: This flagon contains no ordinary medicinal liquor.

Both Navigator and Pirate Doctor even have the same dark marks under their eyes, which no one else has.

If she did help lead them to R’lyeh, even if it was via Navigator and possibly being how he got his special eye, this could parallel Tia Dalma from the Pirates of the Caribbean movies. She helps Jack throughout the movies, and even brought Barbossa back from death. Barbossa even had a curse that made him undead, which can parallel Navigator’s zombie-ish skin color.

The next stage after New Route is Storm Circle. This matches up with how the COA 1 trailer says “intertwined and colliding dreams… will turn into wings and survive the most terrible storms”. This same line can also help imply Kurt’s group did encounter Golden Sea Monster based on the “intertwined and colliding dreams” part. Right before this line, the trailer even says “No one ever doubts their direction”. This line seems to almost perfectly reference Kurt’s Lost skin description: “Life is a long voyage. As long as you have a lighthouse in one's heart, you won't lose your way”. Another line from the trailer, “In front of them… even the sharpest wind and rain will become dull”, also sounds very similar to Lost’s description (and his passion to encounter the abyss).

This stage could also be where Navigator’s Pirate Compass accessory comes in, based on the line about how “compasses can save lives”.

The storm could imply they are getting close to R’lyeh. This may be when Oar of the Abyss and Ghost Blue Helmsman get involved. Oar of the Abyss states it is the reason the ship was led to the abyss. Ghost Blue Helmsman mentions the helmsman of the ship merged with the rudder, which is something that helps steer the ship, and thus also connects to the idea they are being brought to R’lyeh. The one behind all this is likely Poseidon’s Crown and Poseidon, who “rules the oceans and lakes”. This ties in with the COA 1 trailer, which says at the very beginning “A sea as calm as a lake”. Poseidon’s Crown is likely meant to parallel Cthulhu, who actually sleeps in R’lyeh in the Cthulhu mythos (and there’s how R’lyeh being underwater could relate to how Hastur’s skin is called “Poseidon”).

Ghost Blue Helmsman: The crew's fear toward the helmsman after he merged with the rudder almost surpassed that of their fear toward the captain.

Oar of the Abyss: No one knows the true reason as to why it lurks here, the one who brought a ship and its crew to the unknown abyss.

Poseidon’s Crown: There is no mercy in God's heart. That is the very reason why God is God.

Poseidon: He rules the oceans and lakes. His fury will rouse monsters from the abyss that will destroy everything.

It’s possible before Oar of the Abyss and Ghost Blue Helmsman get involved that some of those aboard the ship may have essentially summoned (or called) them. I’m referring to Joker as Singer and Mr. Pink, and then Emily as Rebirth. Joker’s 2 skins mention singing a song for “spirits”, while Rebirth mentions “praying to the ancient gods hidden in the dark for miracles”. The fact she talks about “miracles” could imply they were in danger, which could refer to the “storm circle” stage, especially as she also does mention the “raging tides”.

To add to this, Singer and Mr. Pink both have the Yellow Sign (Hastur’s sign) on his hat, while Emily’s hat has the same symbol that can be found on Fiona’s hood and key. In fact, Kurt’s and Helena’s skins also have this same mark.

The last stage of COA 1 is R’lyeh. The captain and his crew were brought there by Oar of the Abyss and Ghost Blue Helmsman, possibly because of Poseidon’s Crown. Hastur’s Glutton and Carnival (which is called “Feast” in other versions) could hint towards what one of his purposes for bringing them there was (such as corruption). This would tie in with Vera’s Manners skin, who references a “feast” (the name of one of Hastur’s skins as I just said), or to the fate of Pricking (who’s being corrupted). This stage lines up with the line from the COA 1 trailer: “At the end of the journey you will find a treasure, But there is still evil lingering at every corner!”. This line comes right after the one about encountering storms.

Glutton: A true predator doesn't know what being satisfied means. Beware of his gaze.

Carnival: A distant banquet visitor and one of Hastur's abyss incarnations.

Manners: Wearing magnificent clothing to a feast is just good manners. She was more interested in the pursuit of a pure fragrance, with which she could transcend these vulgar affairs.

When they arrive at R’lyeh, they shipwreck. We know this based on Emily’s Holy Angel skin, which mentions a ship sinking, as well as Lucky Guy’s Sketch of a Shipwreck, which shows a ship being sunk by something with tentacles. There’s even an unreleased B-Tier skin for Lucky Guy called Shipwreck. There’s also Emily’s Pirate Flag accessory, which based on the mention of “captured land” could imply they did indeed reach R’lyeh.

Sketch of a Shipwreck: It is impossible to visualize that strange event by simply looking at this rough sketch.

Holy Angel: A radiant angel will sometimes appear in the illusions of sailors whose ship has sunk and lead them back to tranquility.

Pirate Flag: Haha, the pirate flag should be planted at the highest point of the captured land!

Emily’s Flaming Angel mentions leaving behind a “splendor far surpassing that of the sunset glow”. This could also possibly parallel Pirates of the Caribbean.

During the 3rd movie, they have to go to Davy Jones’ Locker to rescue Jack Sparrow. This is essentially Davy Jones’ favorite punishment for those that try to cheat him. Davy Jones’s Locker is also an idiom for the bottom of the sea, for shipwrecks and sailors drowning. The bottom of the sea part could connect to Madame Coral who, with the other fish related skins, are on the “seabed”. The part about shipwrecks and drowned sailors would connect to those that shipwreck on R’lyeh. The fact some of these people are “pirates” would connect to the pirates that arrive at Davy Jones’ Locker in the movie, both Jack who is trapped there until he’s rescued, or the others that go there to rescue him. Especially the latter, as their ship wrecks when they arrive at Davy Jones’ Locker and have to use Jack’s (which Davy Jones left for Jack as part of his punishment, as it was in the sand and couldn’t actually sail at first).

Back to Flaming Angel though, her mention of “sunset” relates to how, in the movie, the way to escape the Locker was to capsize the ship at sundown. Once this happened, they would return to the living world at sunrise, at which time there was a green flash. This “green flash” signaled the returned of a soul from the land of the dead (aka Davy Jones’ Locker). This flash could parallel Flaming Angel’s mention of her “splendor” at sunset (combined with her name “flaming” angel).

Flaming Angel: If she soars on the horizon, she'll leave behind a splendor far surpassing that of the sunset glow.

Back to R’lyeh, this is where we know the eye is retrieved from. Based on the COA 1 trailer saying “One day… the journey will be forgotten. Even if there is only one person, who will reach the destination, no one ever doubts their directions”, it’s possible some of them won’t leave the island.

The part about the “journey” being “forgotten” could relate to how I mentioned some are corrupted once they arrive here when I discussed Glutton, Carnival, Manners, and Pricking. This could connect to Lucky Guy’s Shipwreck skin. We know it’s tied to Pirate Captain and his crew as he has the same anchor symbol that is on Jack’s first mate skins and on Leo’s Pirate Captain skin. The reason I think this could tie to possibly being corrupted is because of the similar color scheme of Lucky Guy’s outfit to Poseidon’s Crown, but especially because of the trident symbol on Lucky Guy’s shirt. This trident even seems to have what looks like a tentacle wrapped around it. This matches with Poseidon’s Crown (and Poseidon) as both have tridents on their backs and heads (and because of Hastur’s tentacles).

The fact it says “no one ever doubts their direction” right after mentioning “reaching the destination” could imply Kurt was one of those to reach and retrieve the eye. The fact him and Helena, as well as Emily as Rebirth, all had the same mark on them could imply they all managed to do this.

From Poseidon’s description saying he “roused monsters from the abyss”, that could connect to how all of Hastur’s skins get involved as they approach R’lyeh (Oar of the Abyss, Ghost Blue Helmsman, Glutton, and Carnival). It could also be what he does once everyone reaches R’lyeh. This is where I think Naib as Infected and Parasite gets involved. As I discussed earlier, I think the eye in him is where the actual evil eye comes from.

Lava Tortoise was also looking for the eye for Madame Coral, so it’s possible him and Madame Coral get involved somehow as well. Compared to his “Deep Sea Turtle” skin, his Lava Tortoise skin, as it’s called a tortoise rather than a turtle, could imply he went on land (aka R’lyeh), as tortoises spend most of their time on land (while turtles are mostly underwater).

From here, I think this is where Pirate Shipwright comes in. She talks about building a ship from “seaweed and coral”. The reason she’d be making a new ship could tie in with how their previous one got wrecked. The fact she mentions no “captain with their wits about them would dare risk such an endeavor” could imply the captain and his crew, plus Kurt and Helena, survived, while the part implying the captain may not be sane could either relate to them being at R’lyeh (and so close to the abyss) or to his state of mind since he lost Caged Butterfly.

The fact the ship is made from “coral” I wonder if that could imply a relation to Madame Coral. Her body was said to have merged with the coral afterall. She could also be involved with R’lyeh consiering her mind was said to have fallen to the abyss.

With a ship, they’d be able to leave R’lyeh, which would lead to the beginning of COA 2. This ship made from seaweed and coral could also be the “centuries old ship” mentioned during the COA 2 trailer, while those onboard could’ve been the predessors to the expedition referenced by Optical Mirror.

I did my best trying to figure out COA 1. This is my 3rd time starting over and trying to revise it to be more correct. It’s taken me longer than any of the other COAs. So please don’t be too harsh. I do hope this was at least somewhat enjoyable for everyone!

[vannypies]

Identity V Emily Dyer skin tierlist because i've got opinions and more under the cut if you want to hear me yap

Gorgeous. Cannot Miss. features Risktaker and Yesterday. Risktaker literally has NOTHING wrong with it in my eyes, it's a gorgeous red dress and Emily looks SO nice with blonde hair. And Yesterday is just a very cute dress on Emily!!!!

Very pretty skin features quite a few of Emily's skins and also the remainder of her s tier skins. Blossom of Rebirth is very pretty, and I think the accessory that pairs with it really brings the whole cosmetic together. Firefly is another one like that, and it'd probably be at least a tier or so lower if the accessory wasn't there. I KNOW AKIKO WAS CANCELLED however I do understood WHY she never came to light. Bamboo Guardian is so cute but I also have mixed feelings??? On it??? Like idk I can't explain it my thoughts on her change on the daily. I think Emily should have glasses more often though. ETERNAL FLOWER it's so nice to look at. It might be my favorite out of the essence it's in?? Hard to say. Mikan.... listen i know Danganronpa is lame now BUT HEAR ME OUT!!!! She's silly and I wish I had her ok!!!!

Nothing to Hate has Duskfall all by herself :( sorry Duskfall. I just think it's nothing that really stands out too much? But I don't hate it either. It just doesn't quite itch my brain

Could definitely be better... features both Flaming Angel and Holy Angel. I don't care particularly too much for either of these skins. Rhizotomist is fine I guess? But her skin reminds me of a failed Poison Ivy look. I think Emily should def get a skin with red hair. Rhythm of the Rain ... i will try to cut it some slack seeing as it's an early deduction star but it does feel a taaaad bit boring when you start to look at all the newer deduction stars ....

Stay away from me. features Pirate Doctor. CONTROVERSIAL BUT I DO NOT CARE FOR THE FIRST COA SKINS .... I don't really enjoy pirate themes. :P

[chairkind]

you find an old photo in the car. it's surprisingly undamaged by the cold lake water.

[fideidefenswhore]

Not all her contemporaries considered Joanna 'mad'. In 1505 a Venetian ambassador to Spain, Vincenzo Quirini, noted that Maximilian spent several weeks in the Netherlands 'mostly with the queen [Joanna], keeping her entertained almost constantly with fetes' and trying to reconcile her with her husband before they left for Spain. He 'has tried everything he can to make her happy, because he knows that all her problems have arisen because she is depressed.' In Quirini's opinion, Maximilian succeeded. Henry VII, who met Joanna a few weeks later when storms diverted her ship to England on her way to Spain, agreed: 'When I saw her,' he later told the Spanish ambassador, 'she seemed fine and she spoke in a restrained and gracious manner, never compromising her authority.' Moreover, 'although her husband [Philip] and those with him made her out to be mad, to me she seemed sane; and that is what I believe now.' Ferdinand too, apparently harboured some doubts. At their meeting one month after declaring Joanna incapable of governing, the king urged Philip to tolerate Joanna's behaviour 'just as he had tolerated the behaviour of Queen Isabella, her mother, who in her youth was driven by jealousy to far worse extremes than those of his daughter right now; and with his support she regained her senses and became the queen that everyone knew.'

Emperor: A New Life of Charles V, Geoffrey Parker

[averlym]

4 on the angst list with Araleyn please I need them to suffer

4 : "but it's my fault, right?" (prompt list here)

[blessedmoonsoul]

my relationship with sydcarmism is just like my relationship with christianity I understand and agree in some ways but wholeheartedly disagree in most ways and i hate everyone else who agrees esp. when they're incredibly weird abt it

[ashadeintheshade]

I’m in my post-finishing my first novel-length fic depression era just reblogging bears don’t mind me

[iocheaira]

criminal defense bar luncheon was discussing brady evidence today and how wild all the area pds and the county prosecutors are

[cielospeaks]

gacha stuff under cut

honestly istg if the christmas essence for the fucking millionth time is just the same old popular characters who get literal neverending fucktons of content and no ricky or antonio im tempted to fucking take a break from this shit game

tho robbys design is nice/creative at least. he does get a lot of content but usually its creative which is good. and glad for the rest of the original starter characters (except lucky guy? i think) getting holiday outfits, the cuter ones get pushed despite being equally scummy as the rest of them and imo its only fair they all get content.

[babybluebex]

venus pt.1 | angus tully x fem!reader

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: after being accepted as barton academy's first female student, you didn't think it could get any worse. as the fall semester progresses, you start to form a friendship with the outcast, angus, but what happens when the holidays come and you are the last two students on campus? PART 1 OF ? 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: angus tully (the holdovers, 2023) x fem!reader 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒: canon compliance (this is a complete rewrite of the film, just with the added reader insert), lots of swearing, teddy is an asshole but what's new, 70s ideals about feminism (which YES is a warning), mentions of grief/loss 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: oof here we go, part 1 of my long-teased angus fic! be aware that this is literally 11k words, so i apologize for the absolute brick wall of text you're about to encounter (but don't worry, i put a read more on it :) ) also, if i missed any warnings/tags, pls dm me and let me know if you think i should add something! other than that, enjoy!

There were worse fates than this, right? There had to be, you were sure of it. You felt every pair of eyes on you as you walked down the center aisle of the chapel, acutely aware of the overwhelming masculine energy that you were drowning in. After all, at Barton, it wasn’t every day that these boys saw a girl. You wondered how long some of them had gone without laying eyes on a member of the opposite sex (a real one; skin mags don’t count). 

It also didn’t help that the priest at the front of the room had intentionally brought everyone’s eyes to you the moment you walked in. You had tried to slip in unnoticed, but he had said “Ah, here she is now: our very first Barton lady! Come sit up front with the headmaster!” 

You anchored yourself in the frontmost pew, next to the headmaster with a hippie beard, and kept your head still and staring straight ahead. You had known very little about Barton before that school year— you were from nearby Boston, and had gone to a larger high school with, not only a more mixed gender breakdown, but a significantly different economic situation than Barton. You had been shocked, as you took the bus from town to campus, at how many Mercedes and Cadillacs you had seen near the school. You felt like a fish out of water, in more ways than one. 

The priest didn’t end his taunting when you sat down, though. “Many of you probably wondered, when you got on campus for the beginning of the semester, what the new building next to the dormitory was,” he began, and you heard a few mumblings from the row behind you, confirming their confusion. “Well, gentlemen, this year… Barton has become coeducational. The new building, Blackwell Hall, named for the esteemed Elizabeth Blackwell, is the girl’s dormitory.” 

The mumbling behind you increased to a dull rumble, and you slightly turned your head to get a glance at the boys sitting behind you. All high school boys, kids your age, staring at you and wondering what your deal was. You took notice of one boy in particular, the only one around you not gossiping with his friends, totally uninterested and picking at his cuticles. Before you could even think to wonder about this boy, someone from near the back of the chapel yelled “Is she gonna be in classes with us?” 

“Yes, she will,” the priest said. “She is a junior, so, gentlemen, make sure you welcome her warmly to our school.” 

You sat and endured chapel while burning from all the stares in your direction, and, as soon as the priest dismissed the lot of you, you shot up and made your way to the doors, clutching your handbag close to your body. The August air hit your face as you stepped out, and you started back to Blackwell Hall, where your things sat, ready to be unpacked, but someone called out to you, demanding your attention. 

“Hey, girl!” You turned to see who had shouted, and you were met with the sight of a boy with caramel-colored hair, wearing a sports coat and tie. Come to think of it, all the boys were wearing coats and ties. You hadn’t been told anything about a uniform, and suddenly your jeans felt less than appropriate. The boy had a cigarette in his hand, and he beckoned you over to him, and you clenched your back teeth as you (for some reason) obeyed. 

“You’re a junior, huh?” the boy asked, and you nodded. “What classes are you taking?” 

You pursed your lips. “Precalc,” you began. “Ancient Civ. Home Ec. Bio.” 

“Gym?” he asked, and you shook your head. 

“There’s not a girls’ locker room,” you said, hoping he understood your explanation. 

The boy ashed his cigarette, and he said, “What period do you have Ancient Civ?”

You tried to recall what you had written down, and you said, “Fourth period, I think. With Hunham.” 

“Oh,” the boy said with a winning smile. “I’m in that period too. Maybe we could be study partners.” 

You drew in a breath and cleared your throat. “Maybe,” you said softly. “What’s your name?” 

“Teddy,” he replied. “Kountze.” 

“Right,” you mumbled. “Well, um, I’ll see you around, Teddy.” 

“Um, are you going to the cafeteria?” Teddy asked hastily, like he was looking for something to talk to you about. “I-I was about to head there, and, if you wanted someone to sit with, I have a spare seat at my table.” 

“I’m not,” you told him. “Gotta get back to my dorm and finish unpacking. I only got in town today.” 

“How did…” Teddy started. “How did you get in? Your folks hear that Barton was going coed and got you in?” 

You shook your head. “I went to Central High School, in Boston,” you replied. “I was doing a research project and saw in a newspaper that Barton was going coed and having a lottery for the first female student. I sorta put my name in as a joke, and then, when I won, it… Wasn’t really a joke anymore. I had to take some academic placement tests, since Central isn’t exactly a highbrow school, and I got a scholarship that covered a lot of my tuition. The board of trustees waived the rest of it, so…” 

“You’re going here for free?” Teddy asked incredulously. “Jesus, I didn’t even know we had scholarships.” 

“Of course you wouldn’t, Kountze,” a voice said from nearby, and you turned your shoulder to see the boy from chapel who didn’t give a shit about you. He stood tall, rail thin, a mop of dark curls on top of his head. He had eyes like black holes, his pale skin so translucent around his eye sockets that he had purplish-red bags underneath. “Nobody’s going to tell the bottom scum about possible academic achievements. It’s cruel to tease people with something they’ll never have.” 

“Fuck off, Tully,” Teddy snapped. “Don’t you have some porno mag waiting for you?” 

The boy (you supposed his name was Tully) pushed his hands into the pockets of his coat and skulked away, and you scoffed under your breath. “Charming,” you mumbled, but you couldn’t tear your gaze away from his back as he left the scene. 

“Jesus, yeah,” Teddy said. “That’s Angus Tully. Biggest asshole here, thinks he’s better than everyone else. God knows why, he’s such a fuckin’ loser. He’s in Hunham’s fourth period too.”  

You furrowed your eyebrows at Angus Tully’s back, and then redirected your attention to Teddy, who was presently snubbing out his cigarette with the toe of his shoe. “I’ll see you in class tomorrow,” you said softly, and, without another word, departed for your dorm. 

You appreciated that Barton had built a separate dorm for the female students, but, seeing as you were the sole resident of the building, you were irked by it. It was too big and empty, too lifeless and soulless. Certainly, they had built it with future generations in mind, hoping that more girls would eventually enroll and prove the building a necessity, but, for now, you found yourself aching with loneliness. You missed your mom and your sisters, in your small apartment in downtown Boston, just a few blocks from your old high school. You missed hearing Linda Ronstadt records playing from your older sister’s room (the one she shared with your mom), or the ceaseless sound of the air conditioning unit buzzing away in the window of your room (the one you shared with your other older sister). Barton just felt too… Good for you. But, it was as your mother had told you: it was an opportunity that you could not afford to pass up. 

You didn’t have a lot to unpack, and you hung up your clothes as you chewed your lip. For some reason, the interaction outside the chapel was sticking with you. Not Teddy, although he certainly had made himself hard to forget. No, you were thinking about Angus Tully, apparently the head asshole of Assholedom. You would be seeing him tomorrow too, for the first day of classes, in Hunham’s Ancient Civ class. You had never taken a class like that— your old school didn’t even offer the Advanced Placement program, so obnoxiously pretentious classes like that were out of your realm of understanding— and you were almost worried that you would flunk right out. 

You tossed and turned all night, dreading sunrise and morning. Breakfast was served at 7, and classes began at 8, beginning with Precalc for you, then transitioning into Biology. After third period free, you had Ancient Civ, then an hour for lunch, then Home Ec, then your last few hours of the school day were reserved for something that, on the fax paper that you had been given at the front office, was called “Secretarial Studies”. You hated to think what that meant (surely, Barton wasn’t trying to prime you for being a secretary and nothing more), but mostly, it meant that your school day basically ended earlier than for others. 

You awoke early, showered and scrubbed yourself clean (the water pressure in the shower was better than the fourth floor apartment that you used to deal with), and you dressed yourself in what you hoped was becoming of a Barton girl. The dress had initially been purchased as an outfit for special chapel occasions, Christmas and Easter or whatever, but you knew that your regular jeans and wrinkled t-shirt wouldn’t be enough for your new shiny academy. 

Once again, as you entered the cafeteria for breakfast, you felt all eyes on you. You scanned the room for an empty seat (you didn’t fail to spot Angus Tully, sitting at the cornermost table, not conversing with everyone else) and sighed when you saw an open chair right next to Teddy Kountze. He spotted you and waved, and you made your way over. 

“Hey there,” Teddy said. “How was your first night?” 

“Fine,” you shrugged noncommittally. “Kinda quiet, though.” 

“Yeah, nobody else in the whole building,” Teddy sighed. “No roommates or anything; that must be nice.”

“Nah, not really,” you replied. “I got used to my mom and my sisters, and it was just too quiet. Not nearly enough chaos for me.” 

“How many sisters do you have?” A boy across the table from you asked. 

“Two,” you said. “Both older. And my mom lived with us too, so there was always something going on.”

“Shit, for sure,” the boy said. “Are you gonna join any clubs while you’re here? Or sports or something?” 

You didn’t exactly love the way that the boy said that. “While you’re here”. Like you weren’t going to stay at Barton for very long. “I don’t know,” you shrugged. “I’ve never really been a sporty type. I might see if the yearbook needs help or something.” 

“You could join chess club,” the boy laughed, and Teddy (and pretty much everyone else at the table) laughed too. 

“Why? What’s so funny about chess club?” you asked. 

“Nothing,” Teddy sighed as he finished laughing. “Except that Tully’s ugly mug is there.” 

“Tully?” you repeated. “Angus?” 

“Do you know him?” a different boy at the table asked. 

“No, not at all,” you said quickly. “Just… Heard some stuff about him, that’s all. How he’s apparently a douche.” 

“You’ll see,” Teddy assured you. “In class, try to challenge him on something. See how he reacts, and you’ll get why we all hate him.” 

You wrinkled your nose at the thought, but decided to not let it bother you. You made your way to class, hanging close behind Teddy and not really listening to him as much as you were admiring the school building. It was so… Old. So was your old school, but Barton was beautifully old, whereas Central was just old. Dark, shiny wood everywhere, framed oil paintings of people; it was a feat. You finally separated from Teddy when you reached the classroom for Precalc, and you hesitantly stepped in. A handful of guys were there, sitting on their desks and chatting, and the room fell dead as you stepped inside. You hazarded a small smile, and quickly made your way to the back of the room, your preferred spot in any classroom, but you were stopped in your tracks. 

Angus Tully. He sat in the back corner, close to the window, his tie loose and crooked around his neck. He was looking out the window, but his eyes slid over to you as you approached the desk beside him. 

“Hi,” you said gently. “Can I… Um, can I sit here?” 

Angus shrugged, as if he didn’t care, and you slung your bag across the back of the seat before you settled yourself down. You tapped your fingers on the desktop for a moment, wondering what the next course of action was, and you mumbled out, “I-I heard you were in chess club?” 

“Yeah,” Angus grunted out. “What about it?” 

“Oh, nothing,” you said, anxiously smoothing your skirt on your thigh. “Just, umm… I was wondering if there was, like… If you guys were open to new members.” 

“Probably,” Angus said simply. 

You nodded slowly, waiting for his next words, but they never came. “Right,” you said softly. “Okay.” 

To your disappointment, Angus Tully and you shared every class together, except for your free period and Home Ec. His demeanor never changed a single bit throughout the day, sullen and curt. He didn’t speak during class, didn’t answer questions or even seem as if he was paying attention. It was odd. You were thinking about it as you settled into a desk in the back of the Ancient Civ classroom, and you yourself were hardly paying attention to the teacher, a one Mr. Hunham, until he called your name. “Miss?” he said, and you lifted your cheek out of your hand. “Would you like to introduce yourself?” 

You blinked a few times, your face positively burning hot, and you cleared your throat. “I’m sure you all know my name by now,” you began. “Know that I went to a public school in Boston, got in here on a lottery and a scholarship… I guess there’s not much else to know about me.” 

“Have you ever studied ancient civilizations before, Miss?” Mr. Hunham asked. He seemed well-meaning, if maybe a little sarcastic. 

“No,” you told him. 

“Any experience with Latin?” Mr. Hunham asked next. 

You deflated. Shit. This was that sorta school? “No,” you said, a little quieter this time. 

“Well, that’s alright,” Mr. Hunham said. “We’ll catch you up to speed. Now, gentlemen— Ah, and lady— let’s open our books to the first chapter.” 

All during class, you felt hot tears pricking at your eyes. You were humiliated. All these words and names that everyone else seemed to know, and you had no fucking clue what any of it meant. It was all Greek to you— Latin, actually, but that didn't matter. As Mr. Hunham was mid-sentence about some sort of war, the bell to end the class sounded throughout the room, and you instantly closed your textbook and began to shove it into your bag. “Read the rest of the section tonight!” Mr. Hunham called over the sounds of your classmates packing up and chattering. “There will be a quiz on Friday!” 

You shouldered your bag and tried to avoid eyes as you skated out of the room, but a voice saying your name held you back. You hoped your eyes weren’t red as you turned to see Angus standing limply in the hallway. He had stayed quiet during Mr. Hunham’s class too, sitting again in the back corner, and you had managed to forget about him as you wallowed in shame. “Yeah?” you asked. 

Angus carefully walked closer to you, and he said, “The library has tutors sometimes. If you need help with Latin.” 

“Oh,” you said softly. “Thanks. I just… Didn’t know people still spoke that.” 

“Not really, it’s a dead language,” Angus said. “But it’s helpful sometimes in classes. A lot of Ivy League schools have Latin courses that are required.” 

“Well, thank God I’m not going to an Ivy League school,” you chuckled mirthlessly. “I’ll be lucky if community college takes me.” 

“You go to Barton, colleges will be fighting for you to go there,” Angus shrugged. 

“But I’m not somebody,” you protested. “I’m not a senator’s kid, my dad isn’t a CEO, like… I just go here.” 

“But the name is good enough for schools to want you,” Angus said. “They want the prestige, that’s all.” 

You thought on it for a moment, and you mumbled, “Thanks, Angus. I’ll, um… See you tomorrow.” 

The whole first week of classes progressed at a snail’s pace. Every day was torturous— all of your classes, except for Ancient Civ, were easy. Home Ec was a complete wash, since you already knew how to sew and cook, and Secretarial Studies was just as you had feared: teaching you to type, mostly, but nevertheless skills needed to do office work. You were a little offended; you were the only student in the class, which was helmed by the front office manager Ms. Crane. Obviously the boys didn’t have to take this class, so what was Barton trying to say? 

Finally, it was Friday night. Your dorm building was quiet again, and, even though they had provided a rec room with a radio and a few bookshelves, there wasn’t too much for you to do. You curled a loose thread from your sweater around your finger as you considered your next move, and you sighed as you grabbed your keys and shuffled into your shoes. 

You pushed your way into the boy’s dorm, and there was a palpable change in energy. The lights seemed brighter, the air thicker, sounds coming from all manner of places. Some doors were open, the residents standing and chatting, and you could distantly hear the sound of a television playing somewhere on the first floor. Much livelier, more lived in; you wished you could have been placed there instead. You followed the sound of the television down the hall, past the chatting boys, and you noticed how conversations paused as you passed by. You despised that. 

The door to the rec room was wide open, and you peeked in nervously. The television was playing some rerun of Gilligan’s Island, and boys were scattered to all corners of the room. Some played pool, some sat on the couches, some stood by the open window and smoked, but everything seemed to stop as you crossed the threshold. You made your way to an empty section of the couch and sat down, grinding your teeth as boys young and old watched you. You sighed, and you said, “What’s going on?”

The boy next to you, some kid that you knew was in your Bio class but didn’t know his name, frowned. “Huh?” he asked.

You jerked your head towards the television. “The show,” you said. “What’s happening?” 

“Oh,” the boy said, and everyone resumed their conversations. “Umm, don’t you have a TV in your dorm?” 

“Just a radio,” you said with a shake of your head. “What episode is this?” 

The boy shrugged. “Wasn’t really paying attention,” he said. 

You bunched your mouth up and sighed again, and you stood up. You could sense the disappointment as you left the rec room, but you couldn’t stand being in there any longer. You knew that being ogled at came with the territory of being the only girl at a boys’ school, but you couldn’t imagine it would have been anything like this. You slipped your hand into the pocket of your jeans and found a few errant coins in there, leftover from some excursion from God knows how long ago, and you started up to the second floor. In your building, there was a bank of phones on the second floor, and it made sense to you that this building would be the same. 

Luckily, you were right. There was just as much business on the second floor as on the first, but the little phone bank was a calm corner. You sighed and examined the phone for a moment, trying to find the slot to put your dime, and you frowned. What the fuck?

“Just dial nine, and then the number you wanna call.” 

You jumped in fright. “Jesus Christ!” you seethed, whipping around to see Angus. He sat in a shadow of the phone bank, a book in one hand and a half-eaten apple in the other. He looked a little more casual than he did in class, his tie gone and shirt unbuttoned one or two to show the top of his undershirt. Still looked a little Grim Reaper in the face, though. “You scared the shit outta me.” 

Angus huffed a short laugh through his nose. “Thought you saw me,” he said. 

“I did not,” you mumbled. “Where’s the coin slot?” 

“These aren’t payphones,” Angus told you. “Just dial nine for a non-school number, then dial away.” 

You drew in a deep breath and shoved your dime back in your pocket, and you picked up the phone and started to rotate the dial, starting with nine, then going for your family’s apartment number. You felt Angus’s gaze seering on your back, and you cradled the phone to your shoulder as it rang. “Do you mind?” you asked. 

“Do I mind what?” Angus asked. 

“Scram, man,” you sighed. “I’m trying to call my mom, and I don’t want you listening to it.” 

“Well, you shouldn’t have come to a public phone if you wanted a private conversation,” Angus said, and you tilted your head at him in annoyance. “Doesn’t Blackwell have a phone bank?”

“Yeah,” you said. “But I didn’t wanna use it.” 

“So you came here instead,” Angus said. “I think you like the attention.” 

You swallowed thickly, anger tepid but starting to rise. “You don’t know me at all,” you bit at him. 

“Why’d you come to this building to make your call if you knew that every guy would stop to stare at your ass?” Angus asked. “You knew that. You’ve been here a week, you know by now that you attract attention. I think you like it, but you can’t admit it because you have that whole quiet mystery girl thing going on.”

“Fuck off, Tully,” you mumbled. “I’m not here to be some goddamn puzzle for you to solve. And I’m not gonna fuck you if you figure out my backstory, so just go away.”    

“Who said anything about fucking?” Angus asked smugly. 

You glared at him and that stupid crooked smirk on his face. “Stop staring at my ass first and we might get somewhere,” you told him lowly, just in time for the call to pick up. 

“Hello?” your mother said, and you sighed in relief. 

“Mom, thank God,” you laughed lightly. “You took so long to answer, I was worried nobody was there.”

“Oh, no, pumpkin, I’m here,” your mom told you. “I was just in the shower.”

“Is Rachel not home?” you asked. “Or Anna?” 

“Rach is at work,” your mom told you. “She picked up extra hours at Neiman Marcus. She thinks they might promote her to manager at the end of the year.”

“Oh, wow,” you mumbled. “Good for her. And Anna?” 

“Started taking night classes,” your mom said. “She started on Monday too.” 

“Cool,” you chuckled. “What’re you doing tonight? I think ABC is showing some sort of movie—”

“I’m going on a date,” your mom said, and your mouth went dry. 

“What do you mean?” you asked. “Like… With a guy?” 

“Yes,” your mom said carefully. “He’s nice, I met him at work. He’s taking me to a movie and dinner.” 

“That’s…” you started. “Cool, Mom. Good for you.”

“What about you?” your mom asked. “Surrounded by all those boys, there has to be someone who’s caught your eye.” 

You sighed. Your lip trembled, and you closed your eyes. You were acutely aware that Angus was still sat behind you, and the fact that you hadn’t heard his book turn in a few minutes meant that he was absolutely listening to your phone call, the little shit. “No, not really,” you said. “Everyone here is either too rich, too smart, or too… Asshole-ish. Some are even all three.” You made a point to turn your head towards Angus, and you heard his little huffing laugh before you turned back to the phone. 

“Oh, well,” your mom said. “Maybe you’ll find someone. How are classes?” 

“Fine, I guess,” you said. “I’m taking a class about ancient civilizations, and apparently I missed the class where they teach Latin, so I’m sorta lost. And Home Ec sucks because I already know how to do all that. And they’re making me take something about how to be a secretary, and that’s so infuriatingly sexist that it makes me angry.”

“It’s a bunch of men, in charge of a bunch of boys,” your mom sighed. “They’re trying their best to adapt to you.” 

“I can’t even take gym class because they don’t have a place for me to change clothes,” you lamented. “Not that I wanna take gym anyway, but you see why I’m upset!” 

“I know, pumpkin, it’s okay,” your mom said. 

“Why would they go coed if they can’t even integrate girls in properly?” you sighed. “I wish I had just stayed home and gone to Central. Would’ve saved me a lot of trouble.” 

“You’ll be alright, you’re still just adjusting,” your mom assured you. “But… If, by Christmas, you still don’t feel like you belong there, I’ll pull you out and you can go back to Central. But I have to know by Thanksgiving, so I can start the paperwork in time for spring semester”

“Sure,” you said. “That sounds good to me.” 

“Alright, baby,” your mom said. “Richard will be here any minute, and I have to finish getting ready. I’ll be at work until 4 tomorrow, but call any time after, okay? I love you so much.”

“Love you too,” you mumbled, and you held the plastic phone by your face as you listened to your mother hang up and the dial tone drone. After a moment, you hung the phone back up on the hook, and you readied yourself for Angus’s petty insults as you turned to leave the phone bank. But they never came. You eyed him, sitting there on the wooden bench, his dark eyes focused on yours, and you snapped, “What?” 

“Nothing,” Angus said lightly, sliding back into the darkened corner and picking up his book. “Nothing at all.” 

That was your weekly exercise. Week in and week out, all you did was classes. You wanted to avoid as many interactions with the others as possible, so you stayed quiet during class, kept to yourself, didn’t accept invites to parties or football games or to sit at lunch tables. You took to having lunch with Ms. Crane in the front office, and she seemed to commiserate with you about all the boys. “Some of these kids are real stinkers,” she told you. “But they’re teenage boys. I think it’s a law that they have to be.”

Your saving grace was the deal you had made with your mom. If you could just wait until Christmas break, you could go back to your old school, to your old friends, and you could forget about the hell that was Barton. You kept your grades up, so that Central could see that you hadn’t turned into some kind of slacker, and you consistently got B’s and A’s in your classes. Except for Ancient Civ. 

The exam booklet slapped down on your desk, a red F blazoned across the front. You sighed and started to thumb through it, trying to figure out where you went wrong as the other boys also realized their grades were low, and your heart sank when you saw all of the multiple choice questions without a flaw. So it was your essay question that led you astray. On the very last page of the booklet, you found your essay, handwritten yesterday on something about ancient philosophers, and a red note in Mr. Hunham’s handwriting. See me after class. 

You could hardly pay attention to the conversation between Teddy and Mr. Hunham. Your mind was racing, wondering what he wanted to talk to you about. You should have gotten a perfect score, but something held that back. Surely he didn’t think you had cheated? Or copied someone else’s work? You thought that you and Mr. Hunham got along (as well as any student can get along with their strict, hardass teacher) and your heart sank at the thought that you had definitely somehow disappointed him. 

“... Offer a makeup exam” got your head out of the clouds, and you focused on Mr. Hunham at his podium. “You’ll all get a second run at this after break.” The class muttered and mumbled, only to be cut through by Mr. Hunham’s next words: “Of course, it will not be the same exam. You will now be responsible for new material as well. Your grade will be an average of the two.” 

As Mr. Hunham instructed the class to open their books to a new chapter, you were shocked, along with everyone else, when Angus spoke. “No offense, sir,” he began, and you sucked in a breath. You had learned that, whenever any of the boys at Barton didn’t intend offense, that offense was certainly on its way. “But is this really the best time to be starting a new chapter? I mean, we all appreciate the, uh, makeup exam gesture… But our families are here.” 

You rolled your eyes. Speak for yourself, Tully. Your mom had to work that day, as did both of your sisters, and you gotten instruction to take a Greyhound into Boston and someone would meet you at the bus station to bring you home. It wasn’t exactly the best plan, but it was what worked. Your mom had arranged with Barton to let you back on campus during break to empty your dorm room, and you sighed a thing of relief. Almost done. You were so close to leaving Barton in your dust and washing your hands of the entire school. 

“Most teachers have already canceled class,” Angus continued. “We have chapel in forty minutes, then we’re out of here. I mean, our heads are elsewhere.” 

“And where exactly is your head, Mr. Tully?” Mr. Hunham asked, and Angus shrugged. 

“Uh, I don’t know. St. Kitts.” 

Jesus. Of course Angus Tully was going to fuckin’ St. Kitts for Christmas. You would be lucky if your family could afford to have the heat turned on for Christmas. 

Your annoyance turned to dire anger when Mr. Hunham decided to scrap the idea of a makeup exam and dismissed the class without another word. You hurried to shove your exam booklet in your bag, and you glared at Angus as you edged out of your row. “Thanks a lot, dick,” you mumbled, then left the room, not even waiting to see Angus’s response. Your heart raced as you tailed Mr. Hunham, and you finally called his name as he approached the door to his private office. 

“Ah, Miss,” Mr. Hunham chuckled. “Yes, yes, let’s sit down and discuss your exam.” 

“I-I didn’t do anything wrong,” you said hurriedly as he unlocked the office door. “I didn’t cheat or plagiarize, you didn’t even mark off any points. I don’t understand why I failed.” 

Mr. Hunham said nothing as he led you into his office, and you wrinkled your nose. God, it smelled bad in there. Nevertheless, you sat down in one of the chairs across from his desk, and you waited with bated breath as he sat down in his seat. He examined you for a moment, for long enough for you to start to feel weird under his walleyed gaze, and, finally, he said, “In actuality, Miss, you didn’t fail. You got the highest score in the class.” 

“B-But I got an F…” you protested. “Angus Tully got a B!”

“I wrote an F on your paper, but you actually got a 98,” Mr. Hunham told you. “Near-perfect score, I only took off in your essay question for misspelling ‘Periclean’.” 

“Oh,” you mumbled. “Then, why’d you write an F on my paper?” 

“Because I was disappointed in you,” Mr. Hunham said. You felt sick. Your skin was hot and your stomach roiled, and hot tears pricked at your eyes. “I heard from Ms. Crane that you were leaving Barton.” 

You nodded silently. 

“And why is that?” Mr. Hunham asked. 

You sighed. “I miss my old school,” you admitted with a thick throat. “My old friends. Nobody likes me here, and I… Just think I’d be better off back home. I’m not a Barton person.” 

“What is a Barton person to you, Miss?” Mr. Hunham asked. His hands were clasped at his chin, his bifocals in his fist. He seemed genuinely concerned about you. 

“Someone not me,” you said. “Rich… Smart… Important. All those guys are gonna go to good colleges, and I’m gonna be stuck waiting tables my whole life.”

“You are smart, Miss,” Mr. Hunham told you. “You passed all your classes with flying colors, you made Latin look like a piece of cake. If you wanted to, you could go to any college in the country. Or the world!”

“I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for that stupid lottery,” you mumbled. “I don’t belong here, sir, we both know that.” 

Mr. Hunham fixed his mouth in a thin line and sighed, and he said, “Of course. Well, I do hate to see you go. Your essay on the siege of Troy was… Very good.” 

“Thanks,” you mumbled. “Umm, have a nice Christmas, I guess… See you around.” 

Chapel that day felt exactly the opposite to your first chapel at Barton. The dread that had filled the air at the beginning of the semester had now changed to an excitement about going back home, and, even though you still felt like everybody was staring at you, you couldn’t shake the feeling. You were done. You had made it. After you moved during break, you’d never have to lay an eye on Barton or any of those boys ever again. You had to admit that you were going to miss Ms. Crane, and maybe even Mr. Hunham too, but the positives far outweighed the negatives. 

After chapel let out, you hurried back to Blackwell Hall and grabbed your suitcase and changed out of your nice dress, and you made your way to the front of campus, where a Greyhound bus sat, waiting to take kids into the city. You stepped on board, taking a seat towards the back of the bus, and you looked out the window at one last gaze at Barton Academy. Although, you couldn’t admire the architecture or the pretty way the snow glistened in the midday sun. No, you could only see the tall, lanky, dark-haired kid standing on the steps of the chapel, waiting for someone. 

Even though you despised Angus Tully and didn’t really care if he lived or died, it was a sad sight to see him waiting like that. He looked so dismayed and forlorn, his suitcase at his feet, his hands in the pockets of his winter jacket. Maybe in another world, you and Angus could have been friends. Your mind wandered, thinking of meeting Angus somewhere else— your mind conjured the image of a bookstore, reaching for the same book and having a little back and forth on who should have it, before Angus acquiesced, but not before writing his phone number in the book. 

The rumble of the bus nearly lulled you asleep on the two and a half hour drive to Boston, and you roused yourself as the bus pulled into the station. Gathering your things, you departed, along with a handful of other Barton boys. They quickly found their families that were waiting on them, and you wandered through the station. Your mother hadn’t indicated who would be picking you up, or where in the station to meet them, and you made your way to a payphone. You were sure she was at work, but you wondered if you could call the restaurant and ask for her. Before you could put your dime in the phone, though, you heard your name being called, and you looked to see an older man smiling at you from across the room. 

Fear flashed hot in your face, but you kept your composure as the man approached you. “Hey, you look just like how your mom described you,” he laughed. “I’m Rich.” 

“Who?” you asked. 

“Rich,” he repeated. “I’ve been seeing your mother for a few months. She’s working the afternoon shift, and your sisters are both busy, so your mom asked me to get you.” 

“Oh,” you nodded. “Right, yeah. It’s nice to meet you.” 

���You seem tired,” Rich told you. “Long day?” 

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” you chuckled. “I’m just glad to be done with Barton, that place can go to hell.” 

“I thought Barton was a boys’ school,” Rich mumbled. 

“It’s a long story,” you sighed. “But whatever, that’s in my rearview now.” 

“Alright,” Rich said. He seemed confused, but he took up your suitcase for you. “We already put fresh sheets on the pullout, so when we get back, you can take a nap if you want—”

“The pullout?” you repeated. “Am I not sleeping in my room?” 

Rich winced. “Ah, well,” he began. “You see, my daughter is sleeping there, and—”

“Your—” you started. “Why is she in my room?” 

“The bed was vacant,” Rich shrugged. “She’s lived there for a few months now.”

“And why is your daughter living with my mom?” you asked. “Do you… Did you move in?” 

“Well, when your mother and I got married, we figured it was the logical thing to do.” 

Your heart nearly stopped. Married. Your mother had gotten married, and hadn’t told you a single thing about it. No wedding invite, no pictures, not even a ‘hey, Rich and I are getting hitched!’ You felt sick and lightheaded, and you tried to take a steadying breath. It just sounded all shaky and unsure, though, and it made you feel even worse. “I, uh…” you began. “I…” 

“What’s wrong, pumpkin?” Rich asked, and the camel’s back broke. Nobody can call you that but your mom. 

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” you asked. “Rolling in here, doing all this bullshit, and for what? Are you trying to prove something? Win an award or what? Let’s see how quickly we can marry the single mom, that’ll go down great with her three adult children!” 

“Rachel and Anna said they were okay with it,” Rich said. 

“But you didn’t ask me!” you cried. “God, this is exactly what she wanted, huh, throw me in a boarding school and forget all about me? Fuck this, I don’t need this.” You snatched your bag from Rich and turned on your heel quickly, and you didn’t even hesitate when Rich called “Where are you going?” 

“Anywhere but here!” 

You begged and pleaded with the Greyhound driver to take you back to Barton. He said that he had to stick to a schedule and was really sorry, but he changed his tune when you dug into your bag and grabbed your pocketbook, pulling out a few 20s. You didn’t have a lot of money in the first place, and watching those bills go in his pocket hurt, but, in the end, you got back to Barton just as the sun was starting to set. You knew that whoever was staying over break would be shocked to see you (maybe even elated, depending on who it was), but you didn‘t care about reactions. You just didn’t want to think at that moment. 

You followed the low din of boyish muttering to the cafeteria, and you steeled your nerves for entering. You could discern only two voices, maybe a third if you listened through the thick door hard enough, and you quickly pushed on the metal handle in the middle of the door to slam the door open. 

Heads whipped towards you. You didn’t recognize a lot of them— some younger kids, and a guy that was on the football team and was a senior— and your heart sank into your stomach when you saw Teddy Kountze sitting at the dinner table. So you would be spending Christmas break with Teddy. Great. 

But the bad feeling got worse when you saw who was sitting one seat down from Teddy. Angus fucking Tully. He stared at you with no joy or humor in his eyes, and you huffed out a breath. 

“Miss?” Your gaze went to the head of the table, and a little bit of relief washed over you as you saw the face of Mr. Hunham. Was he supervising the holdovers? “What’re you…?” 

“Got room for one more?” you mumbled, approaching the table and securing the seat between Teddy and Angus. You instantly reached for the serving dishes, wanting anything to occupy your shaking hands, and you slowed to a stop as you noticed the whole table staring at you; even Angus wasn’t trying to hide it, his black eyes as big as dinner plates. “What?” you barked, and the energy resumed at the table in a snap. 

Dinner was finished soon after, and Mr. Hunham pulled you into the hall as the boys were cleaning up. “I thought you were going home to Boston for the holiday?” he asked gently. 

“I can’t…” you started. “It seems like I don’t even have a place in my own family.” 

“What do you mean?” Mr. Hunham asked. 

“My mom got married without telling me,” you told him. “And the guy and his daughter moved into our apartment, which could barely fit me and my mom and sisters in the first place, and now they’re there, a-and she’s in my room! That fucking bitch is in my room, and I-I—” 

“Easy, easy,” Mr. Hunham said, putting his hand out to placate you. “Calm down. Listen, I understand that this is hard, it’s awful, but resorting to that is not what’s going to help you. We’ll find a place here for you tonight, and tomorrow we can call your mother and try to get this straightened out.” 

“Can I not go to my dorm?” you asked. 

“The school shut off heating and plumbing everywhere except the main building,” Mr. Hunham explained. “We’re sleeping in the infirmary.” 

“Jesus Christ,” you huffed. You were so angry that you could kick something. “So now I gotta bunk up with them?” 

“It’s definitely not ideal,” Mr. Hunham mumbled. “But it’s just for one night. We can put up a partition, if that would make you more comfortable.” 

“Fuck it, whatever,” you sighed. Your eyes hurt, and a headache was starting to throb at your skull, and you said, “I don’t care.” 

The boys were split into two rooms, the youngers (and Angus) in one, and Teddy and Jason in the other. The only other empty bed was in Teddy and Jason’s room, and you were quick to settle in and start off for the bathroom. Just as you were leaving, though, a beanpole in a white shirt and flannel pajama pants stopped you in the doorway. 

“Hey,” Angus said curtly. “Where’re you going?” 

“Shower,” you told him. “Brush my teeth, stuff like that.” 

“Why did you come back?” Angus asked. “A little birdy told me that you were quitting Barton.” 

“I…” you started. You wanted to tell him everything, but you were worried about the leverage he’d have if he knew. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.” 

“Nah, I think it is,” Angus said with narrowed eyes. “We know why everybody is holding over. His parents are on a mission trip, his family is in Korea, Kountze The Cunt’s having his house remodeled, and Jason’s dad is waiting for him to cut his hair. Why’re you here?”

“Why’re you here, Angus?” you asked. “I thought you were going to St. Barts or St. Kitts or something.” 

“Obviously not,” Angus said quickly. 

“Then, I’m obviously not quitting Barton,” you said, and instantly regretted it. “I might be… Haven’t decided yet.” 

“What, don’t you like it here?” Angus asked. “Isn’t it a glorious beacon of education and brotherhood—” He stopped himself, dramatically clenching his fist in front of his face. “Oh, that’s right. Brotherhood.” 

“Shut up,” you huffed. 

“C’mon, man, leave her alone,” you heard Jason start from the room behind you, but Angus either didn’t hear or didn’t care.

“You left, and then came back,” Angus said. “What’s wrong? Mommy decided she didn’t want you anymore?” 

You couldn’t help yourself from letting your tears spill over your lashes, and you clenched your teeth. Angus held your eye contact for longer than you thought he would, and he only averted his eyes when your tears gathered at the corner of your mouth. You drew in a shaking breath, aware that everybody was staring at you, watching you cry, and you sniffled and left the room without another word. The showers were empty, and you jerked the handle to start the water, then locked the door to the room. 

Your tears flowed freely then, and you sat on the tile floor and sobbed into your hands. You hoped that Angus could hear you crying from down the hall, and you hoped that he felt bad about his words. Knowing him, though, he had forgotten about you as soon as you left his eyeline. 

By the time you finished your crying and your shower, the lights were off in both the rooms, a soft snoring coming from Teddy and Jason’s (and your) room. Your pajamas didn’t feel like they were enough for the cold in the infirmary, and you edged by the snoring Teddy in his bed to get to yours. The sheets were crinkly and dry and rough, and you bundled the wool blanket up to your chin as you tried to sleep. 

That was destroyed, though, when you heard a “Psst!” come from the doorway. 

You sighed. “Fuck off, Angus,” you mumbled sleepily. 

“Just— Can I—?” Angus huffed. “I’m trying to apologize to you.” 

“I don’t want your fuckin’ apology,” you said. “Just leave me alone.” 

“I shouldn’t have said that to you,” Angus whispered. “I was… Out of line. Or projecting or something, I don’t know. My mom and stepdad went to St. Kitts, but uninvited me so they could celebrate their honeymoon. I guess I’m just familiar with how it feels to not be wanted.” 

You sighed and rolled over to face the doorway, and you settled yourself up on your elbows. “Can you just…” you started. “Think before you speak? I know it doesn’t really seem to matter to you, but sometimes, words hurt. Like, really hurt.” 

“I know,” Angus mumbled. “I’m sorry.”

“You really have to work on not being a huge asshole,” you told him. “You know, nobody here likes you. They all call you names and shit.” 

“I know,” Angus said. “I don’t care. But you’ve gotta try to not be so judgmental. I think you write off everyone here because we’re from different tax brackets. Some of us don’t have it easy.” 

You pressed your lips together. “Fair enough,” you said finally. “I’ll, um… Keep that in mind.” 

“Alright,” Angus said. “Good night, then.”

“‘Night,” you said, and you watched Angus stalk out of the doorway and back to his room. You sat for a few moments more, thinking about how easily Angus had read your thoughts, and you wondered if the other boys could see right through you as easily. You were almost humiliated all over again at the thought that everyone could read you like that, but it didn’t matter. When the morning came, you’d call your mother and work out whatever the problem was, and you would be home in Boston by the next night. 

It didn’t work out that way. You called your mother twice in the morning; the first time, she didn’t pick up the phone, and the second, she would hardly talk to you. “Mom, I just wanna know what happened,” you pleaded. “Why didn’t you tell me? I-I would’ve been supportive!”

“Would you?” your mother asked. 

“Yes!” you sighed. “I wouldn’t have been happy, but I would’ve accepted it if you were happy!” 

“Then, why can’t you accept it now?” she asked. 

“Because you didn’t tell me!” you replied. “You didn’t ask me how I felt about it, if I wanted it to happen, if I even like the guy—  I hadn’t even met him once before you did it!” You paused, chewing your lip, and you said, “Mom. Tell me the truth. Are you pregnant?” 

“No, pumpkin, I’m not,” she sighed, but you could tell she was nearing her wit’s end. 

“Is that why you hurried to marry him?” you asked. “I-I’m telling you, I don’t care that you got married, I’m just upset because you didn’t tell me!” 

“Okay, stop,” your mom said firmly. “I thought you’d be happy for me, baby.” 

Anger flared in your stomach. “Dad hasn’t even been gone for a full year yet,” you mumbled. “And you’re already replacing him.” 

“We all mourn differently, pumpkin,” she said. “I’m sorry that you can’t see that Rich makes me happy. I... I don’t feel lonely with him.”

“Well,” you sighed. “If this is how you mourn Dad, I don’t think I wanna come home. I think I’ll stay at Barton.” 

“Where are you gonna go after the holiday ends?” your mom asked. 

“Staying here,” you said plainly. “I can personally go up to Central and withdraw my paperwork over break. If you want to erase me and my father from your life so bad, then you’ve got your fuckin’ wish.” You slammed the phone back on the receiver with shaking hands, and you turned to leave the front office, only to run straight into— 

“Fuck off, Angus,” you sniffled, side-stepping him and starting down the hall, back to the infirmary. 

“Wait, wait, wait,” Angus said quickly, snatching your wrist in his hand and tugging you back. “What happened? Are you going home?”

“No,” you sighed. “I’m staying here. I never wanna see any of them again.” 

“You said something about your dad…” Angus mumbled. “Is that true? Your dad’s dead?” 

You wiped at your eyes, and your chest went hot. “I don’t wanna talk about it,” you mumbled. 

Angus sighed, and, for once, he did something nice for you. He pulled you into an embrace, not too tight but not so loose that it felt like he didn’t care, and you pressed your cheek into his shoulder. “My dad’s dead too,” Angus whispered. “You don’t have to talk about it, but… I sorta get it.” 

You sniffled again, and you finally let your arms wrap around Angus’s thin body. You sat in silence for a moment, hugging each other, and you only parted when you heard a small scuttle from down the hall, near the infirmary door. Your head turned to see the youngest kid, Alex, standing, watching you two, and you stepped away from Angus and wiped your face. “Guess I’m staying,” you mumbled. 

“Guess so,” Angus echoed. 

The days were monotonous. Hunham would wake you up when the sun rose with a declaration of “It’s daylight in the swamp!”, and you would go through the routine of studying, then exercise, then more studying, then a little bit of free time. In the absence of gym class for months, the exercising was a little difficult, and you were left exhausted and panting every time, and you felt awkward with the guys around. However, after that brief moment with Angus, he had started to be… Better. He was still a dick most times, but he would do little things for you now; pass you the lunch dishes instead of sliding them in your direction, offer to sharpen your pencil during study time. It seemed that finding a similarity had broken his shell for you a bit, and you appreciated it. 

You had taken to helping the cook with meals. Mary Lamb was a good woman that you had minimally interacted with (she had come and given a lesson in Home Ec about cooking, which really nobody paid attention to, but you had made a point to), and you felt a special kinship with her because of her Curtis. She was the only one you told the truth about your father to, and you knew that Mary wouldn’t say anything to the others about it. She seemed as if she appreciated the help in the kitchen, especially from someone who was competent there like you were. You liked talking to Mary, hearing her stories and letting her hear yours. 

Just as you were starting to think that maybe break wouldn’t be all that terrible, less than a week into it, things changed. You shivered in the cold library, despite your sweater, and you tried to focus on the textbook in front of you, but it was nearly impossible. Angus was sitting next to you, and, every so often, his hand would inch out and he would doodle a little figure in the corner of your notebook. You rolled your eyes jokingly at him, trying not to laugh so Hunham wouldn’t fuss at you, and you shifted in your seat a bit to reach Angus’s notebook. You began to crudely sketch him, big dark eyes and messy hair, and he stifled a snort. Mean, he wrote underneath your sketch. 

Accurate, you countered. 

Before either of you could write anything else, there came an odd sound from outside. It was quiet at first, but it grew louder and louder, and you looked upwards, as if the ceiling of the library would allow for any sort of view of what the noise was. It was a loud chopping noise, growing ever louder and louder, drawing the attention of all of you, and even Hunham closed his book and said “What the hell is that?” 

But, from across the table, a smile grew on Jason’s face, a knowing grin, and, all at once, everybody stood from their seats and went to the window. You couldn’t see as well as the others, being shorter than everyone else, but Angus put a gentle hand on your side and pushed you in front of him, letting you get closer to the window. His hand, positioned just above your hip on your torso, made a shiver run down your spine, but you attributed it to the sight of a goddamn helicopter buzzing overhead, lowering itself onto the snowy, abandoned football field. “I knew it!” Jason exclaimed. “He finally caved, the big softie!” 

“What the fuck is that?” you asked quickly. 

“Jason’s dad owns a helicopter,” Angus explained under his breath as Jason pushed away from the window with excitement. 

“Any of you guys like to ski?” Jason called as he left the library, and the younger boys gasped with excitement. You all caught onto the idea at the same time, and the boys filed out, following Jason, but you stayed still at the window, watching the helicopter’s blades slow to a stop. 

“Miss?” Hunham asked, and you closed your eyes. “Aren’t you going with them?”

You shrugged, hoping to seem less hurt than you actually were. “I can’t,” you said. “I don’t have any skiing gear or whatever, I’ve never even done it before… And anyway, I’m not about to call my mom to ask for permission to do that.” 

You sat in the hallway outside the office as Hunham called all of the boys’ parents, being granted permission for the excursion, listening as each boy reacted with glee. It felt like a sick joke; of course you were left all alone again. Before you could ruminate on it for too long, the beanpole came and sat himself next to you, quiet as he scratched absently at his chin. 

“Want me to get you anything from up there?” Angus asked. “Fridge magnet or postcard or…?” 

You shook your head. “No,” you managed with a heavy, thick throat. “Thanks, though.” 

Angus sighed, his eyebrows furrowing together as his jaw tightened, and he tilted his head towards you. His dark eyes looked soft, kinder than you had ever seen from him or thought was capable, and he said, “Sorry.” 

You couldn’t help yourself. Your tears spilled and you clawed your fingernails into your palm, trying to stop from sobbing and heaving, and Angus moved closer to you, until his hip touched yours. He slung a skinny arm around your shoulders and pulled you into his body, his hand gently pressing into your head and ushering you to hide in his neck. He shushed you, whispering “If Hunham sees you crying, he’ll think I did it”, which did nothing other than make you laugh a little and sniffle hard. 

You quickly parted from Angus’s warmth, wiping your eyes with your hand and seeing your mascara smear on the back of your hand. “Gonna go to the bathroom…” you mumbled, and Angus nodded, keeping his seat as you stood up and hurried down the hall. The women’s bathroom next to the office was hardly used, only ever you, Ms. Crane, and the lone visitor using it, and you clutched the porcelain sink as you gasped for breath. Jesus Christ. Would anything ever go your way? Being stuck at Barton over the holidays with the other boys sucked, sure, but now you were all alone with Hunham and Mary. Alone again. You wondered if you’d always be alone. 

You ripped off a paper towel and dabbed at your eyes, trying to fix your makeup, and you pressed cold water to your face to try to calm yourself down. Fuck everything about this. It was unfair. Maybe Hunham would take it easy on you, loosen the reins a little. You trashed the paper towels and adjusted your sweater, trying to seem put-together, and you stepped out of the bathroom to see Hunham and Angus standing outside the office, embroiled in an intense conversation. “... Just one more time, please,” you heard Angus say, and Hunham put his hand up. 

“There’s no point,” Hunham said. “The front desk says they’re not answering. He says they’re away on some excursion.”

You started closer, and you watched Angus’s face fall, his eyes narrowing. He mumbled something under his breath, and Hunham harrumphed. “I’m as disappointed as you are, if not more so,” he said. “I could’ve been spending the rest of my vacation reading mystery novels.” 

“Angus?” you said, and he slid his eyes over to you. “Are you… What’s happening?” 

Angus shot Hunham a deathly look, and he side-stepped your teacher, brushing past you, his arm knocking your shoulder. You locked eyes with Hunham, then quickly turned and started off after Angus. His long legs had carried him down the hall quicker than you were capable of, and you sped up a bit. “Angus!” you called for him, and you finally came up on him at the door to the infirmary, taking his arm in your hand. “What’s going on?” 

“I’m staying here,” he said bitingly. “Mom and Stanley aren’t answering their phone.” 

On some level, you were glad Angus was staying. At least it wouldn’t be just you there. And you were glad it was Angus, as opposed to Teddy or someone else. “Oh,” you managed. “Well, umm…” 

“You don’t have to say anything,” Angus said flatly. He leaned up against the doorway to the infirmary, listening to the other boys packing up, and he added, “In fact, I’d rather you didn’t say anything.” 

You sighed, flicking your eyebrows. “Got it,” you mumbled. Your eyes lifted from the floor to see Ye-Joon, bag in hand, and he softly bid Angus a happy holidays, giving you a curt smile as he edged out of the infirmary. Jason lightly touched Angus’s arm as he told him to take care, doing the same to you before he departed, and you made eye contact with Teddy as he shouldered his bag. He didn’t have his sights set on you, though; he spoke to Angus. 

“I guess that just leaves you and the chick, huh?” Teddy asked. “Be sure to do all your homework— and no funny stuff while we’re gone.” 

If you could have swung a punch at Teddy, you would have. All the boys at Barton were the exact fucking same— Secretarial Studies, sex jokes, it was never-ending and never-changing. You watched Angus’s neck go flushed, and Teddy added, “Oh, almost forgot! I found that picture you were looking for.” Quickly, he stuck a square Polaroid in Angus’s shirt pocket, and a smile crossed Teddy’s face. “Merry Christmas, Mr. Tully. You too, Miss. See you after break.” He winked at you, making your skin crawl, and he departed the room with a chuckle as Angus snatched the picture from his pocket. From your vantage point, you couldn’t see what it was, only the back that read HAPPY HOLIDAYS, but Angus’s mouth screwed up at it, and he flicked it down onto the ground. Your eyes followed it, and you saw a portrait of a family, a mom and dad and a boy, and you recognized the dark eyes and sunken features of the boy. But, in a blank space of the picture, in Teddy’s handwriting, an arrow pointed to the boy and declared “Fuckwad”. 

The cold was biting, even through your coat, as you stood on the football field and watched the boys load into the Smith’s helicopter. Your hands were deep in your pockets as you stared into space, wondering if it could get any worse. As the helicopter took off, the wind blew your hair back, and you watched as it rose, up, up, and away. A heavy energy fell over you three, and your teacher let out a heavy sigh. “Well, let’s make the best of it,” Hunham said, flat but trying to put fake life into his words. The look in Angus’s eyes was harsh enough to kill, and Hunham averted his gaze from him over to you, his two little wards, the holdovers. “Shall we?”

[fluffyglass]

Oh yeah. I'm dropping part 1 of COAS right now.

First Page (You're Here!) - Next Page

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Perfect Score - Chapter 1 - Ice Cold | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: The opportunity of a lifetime presents itself | Word Count: 5.8k~ | Warnings under the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: language, mentions of injury

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Welcome to A Perfect Score, I hope you like the first chapter! It's a lot of set-up here but I am hoping it's not too boring.

Comments, reblogs & likes are always appreciated in this household. I love u 😚

Halting in the middle of the rink, you lean down, tugging the strings of your skates back through their holes even tighter. Damn things are always too big. You make a mental note to text Rhaenys later to get rid of them and invest in some more that actually fit well enough to practise in.

The sound of blades tearing through the ice is beginning to grate now, so you think it’s been long enough. You’ve been practising perfecting the Fankick to Illusion move for at least an hour now and your thighs are starting to scream for reprieve.

Another lesson you feel you’ve learned over the years is to listen to your body when it needs rest. Pushing yourself so hard in the past has never turned out with good results. So now all you can think about is going home, icing your muscles and eating something a bit gratifying, even if it means cheating on your strict diet.

It’s only when you stand up that you realise your core kills, and you wince slightly once you push yourself on your skates towards the edge of the rink.

And as if it couldn’t possibly get worse, a wide-stupid grin is plastered all over Jace Velaryon’s face as he skates up to you. His wild curly brown hair is sat unruly at chin length, and he wears entirely grey sportswear, paired with black skates.

“Fancy seeing you here” he muses, as he circles you on the ice.

You can’t help but roll your eyes, “Actually I was just leaving”

Jace feigns disappointment, his lips turning down into a playful child-like frown, “Shame. Was hoping we could practise together”

You huff, skating backwards away from him, “In your dreams, Velaryon”

“Your loss!”

"You not pestered Luke to get into it then?" You call, amused.

Jace rolls his brown eyes in the back of his head, almost losing balance as he does, "Nah, he's terrified. Won't come near it!"

"Shame, it'd be like watching Bambi-On-Ice" you joke with a grin. He pulls a fake-amused expression, sticking two fingers up at you in retaliation before skating off himself.

You swivel round on the ice, to be greeted with a bright, smiling face as Ellyn Baratheon waits there at the side-lines waving at you.

“Hey El” you say, all puffed out as you walk on your skates to the nearest bench, your muscles screaming now that you’re off your feet.

She smirks, raising an eyebrow, “Jace trying to chat you up again?”

“Trying for sure”

Ellyn hands you a hand towel which you take graciously to dab the back of your neck, “I don’t know how you do this everyday” she says, shaking her head, “Floris not here?”

“No, I haven’t seen her” you shrug, “Why are you here anyway. You Joe Goldberg-ing me?” you smirk at her, undoing the laces to your skates and rubbing the sensitive skin at the ankle.

Ellyn raised her eyebrows, flicking her dark hair over her shoulder, “It’s hardly Joe Goldberg-ing when I know you, idiot” she jokes.

Taking a long sip from your water bottle, you furrow your brows, “What’s up with you? It’s not like you to be worrying after Floris”

“No it’s not that” she argues, “Dad said she was having a tough time with training and I thought she’d be here so…”

You shrug, “She’s not come to train here in ages”

Ellyn hums looking around, looking back at you with wide eyes, “Don’t look, but him in the stands, he's been staring at you the whole time I’ve been here and he totally just caught me looking”

“Well now I just have to look, don’t I?” you smirk, looking around her.

She is indeed right.

High in the stands, arms tightly behind his back, wearing a long dark green coat, is Otto Hightower. He has a stern face beneath the greying beard on his face, eyes constantly set into a frown. Once he sees he has been noticed, he pretends to observe the other skaters, but it’s blatantly obvious he was staring at you, and has been doing so for the past few weeks.

“Oh, him? He’s always here” you say to Ellyn, pulling a face, “Some sort of - I don’t know - talent scouting or something?”

Ellyn passes you your trainers, “Does he always stare like that?”

“Yeah but he’s harmless. It’s Lars, Larry…fuck I don’t remember his name, but it’s him you should feel weird about”

“Gods, yeah! Floris told me!” Ellyn gasps, looking around to make sure the guy isn’t around, “Is it true he was found in the women’s locker room?”

You nod, amused, tying up the laces to your shoes.

Ellyn chuckles, “Jesus, the stuff you guys put up with. Makes me glad I never got involved in this business” she gestures with her hands to the ice rink.

“Hm” you hum, “Anyway, are you going to take me out to eat or what”

She links arms with you, “Charming”

You spare a look over your shoulder at the man in the stands, who looks cagier by the second as he turns, eyes trained entirely on you and stalks off out of booths, his long coat brushing against the seats. He walks away with a purpose only Hightowers seem to possess.

Ellyn, in her true Baratheon nature, takes you to Storm’s End, a popular brunch spot that sells cocktails in the early afternoon. Partly because she genuinely enjoys the food, but also because her dad owns the place. Suppose special treatment works sometimes.

Also in her true nature, she orders two mimosas, indicating that even if it’s not your cheat day, sometimes you just have to live a little, she says. Ellyn harps on about a guy she’s been texting who she matched with on Tinder, who turned out to be a Class A twat when she found out that he’d also matched with every single one of her sisters and tried to chat them up as well.

But as much as she is trying to mask how concerned she is, you can see it. After being her flatmate for so long, it’s difficult to not see.

“Why are you so concerned about Floris?”

Ellyn sighs, “I don’t know. I know I shouldn’t. She’s an adult and she can take care of herself and all but she’s just being really secretive. I just don’t like thinking that she’s keeping her troubles to herself. Even Cass has no idea what’s going on and you know what she’s like”

Your eyes widen in agreement, biting back a grin.

“Control Freak”

“Control Freak”

You both say in unison with a giggle.

You stab at your lunch with your fork, “Well, if it makes you feel any better I’m in ‘the business’ and I don’t know what’s going on with her” you say, “I’m sure she’ll come around. Like you say, she’s a big girl”

“I just think with all these championships coming up, it’s going to her head”

You hum in agreement. But before you can say any more, both you and Ellyn stare at one another in shock when both of your phones light up at the same time, with different Caller IDs. Hers with ‘Dad’. And yours with ‘Rhaenys - Manager’.

Giving one another a weird look, Ellyn senses the urgency in hers and scrambles to her feet, urging her phone to her ear. You accept the call putting it to yours,

“Rhaenys?”

“Where are you right now?” she asks, urgency in her tone.

“Uh…Storm’s End, why?” you ask, “Has something happened?”

“Are you with anyone?”

“Yeah, Ellyn, but she’s on the phone to her Dad - Rhaenys, what’s going on?”

You hear her sigh over the phone, her usually calm demeanour is somewhat hurried.

“Floris has injured herself quite badly. A broken ankle. She won’t be able to compete in the Championships”

With the phone still pressed to your ear, you look up at Ellyn, who is practically tearing her hair out across the room, half-shouting nervously down the phone, receiving the same news as you are right now.

“How do you know this?”

“I have my ways”

“No but, why are you telling me this?”

Rhaenys sighs again and you feel the panic winding its way up your throat, sending every hair on edge. You’re annoyed and flustered in equal measure that you can’t see her face, and wished she would just tell you what the hell was going on.

“Otto Hightower has approached me, asking for you”

What. The. Fuck.

Okay, that’s not what you expected to hear.

“Otto Hightower. You’re kidding right?”

“I wish I was” she answers in a flat tone.

“Well - uh - why not Baela or Rhaena?”

“He doesn’t want them, they only do Singles. Now that Floris is injured they need another skater to join their team”

Your mind feels like it's whirring a million miles an hour.

“Wait, Otto Hightower wants me for Pair Skating?” you ask, confused, “Rhaenys I’ve never done Pairs either!”

“You think I don’t know that!” she retorts, her volume increasing and cracking down the phone, “If Otto wants you, you have a shot at going to the Olympics. With the Targaryens”

The Targaryens.

A figure skating family powerhouse. Combined with the Hightower management, they’re quite the force to be reckoned with. You’d heard of them, being involved in figure skating for most of your life, as they always represented the Crownlands, but they were like a myth, only spoken about but never seen. And as well as that, they’re steeped in layers of controversy. It’s the only thing that is ever so slightly colouring your judgement.

“Rhaenys, I don’t know about this…I’ve got Ellyn right here-”

“There’s a schmoozing event tomorrow night. They’ll all be there. Just go and see how you feel and then we can talk about it, okay?” she offers, her tone more gentle now, “At least give it a chance”

Your gaze is brought back to Ellyn, who looks significantly less stressed out than a moment ago, but still with the phone pressed hard to her ear, talking under her breath. You swallow anxiously and wonder how Ellyn would take it if you so quickly snapped up the opportunity that was presented only because her sister was injured. It feels like the room is spinning, with no sign of stopping and the feeling is making the blood in your veins feel like jelly.

The Olympics.

Was there really a chance that could ever happen?

With a strained, quiet voice, you finally speak, “I’ll think about it”

Rhaenys makes a noise down the phone like the tension is leaving her body, “I’ll text you the details”

As quickly as either of you are able, you accompany her to the hospital to see Floris. And when you see her, it takes every ounce of self-control inside you when Floris shows a photo of her injury not to outright gag. Rhaenys wasn’t fucking kidding, broken ankle your arse. It was facing in the most unnatural direction. Whatever move she was trying to do clearly had gone buttfuck wrong and all her weight had completely snapped her foot.

You manage to sneak in some snacks for her, before leaving Ellyn alone with her to chat amongst themselves while the rest of the Baratheons arrive.

It leaves you to think finally, in quiet, in the comfort of your flat with the kettle boiling softly about what Rhaenys had suggested.

It could never have happened on your own. The Targaryens were well known in the Figure Skating industry, and not always necessarily for the right reasons.

You were too young to remember fully, but after becoming a skater, you began to hear rumours of Alicent Hightower. Some in judgement and some in sympathy. Even the details, you couldn’t tell if they were biased or not.

Alicent Hightower was a brilliant figure skater. The Sweetheart of Oldtown, they called her. She was graceful, professional and had all the makings of being Olympics worthy. And she was only in her early twenties when she did make it, although that didn’t come without the berating and hounding of her father, Otto Hightower, who was and still is her manager, except now he manages her Targaryen children as well. It was always in the press, Otto would be caught berating Alicent in restaurants and outside of championships, he was so desperate for his daughter to make it big. You count the blessings and thank the gods that your parents were never like that.

When she did make it to the Olympics, it had come out that she was having a secret relationship with a judge on the panel, Viserys Targaryen, without disclosing it. In the conflict of interest, and when she was found to be pregnant, she was disqualified and banned from competing professionally altogether. It devastated her noticeably, as the press loved to point out, shoving their cameras in her face wherever she went.

Something about it had always rung tragic to you though. She was only in her early twenties, and Viserys was much older and had already been widowed, with a child around the same age as Alicent as well. A fact you couldn’t help but find gross now that you’re older. But not only that, Viserys was extremely close with Otto, and the whole ordeal reeked of his involvement. An act that in the end, destroyed her career.

The controversy lasted years, as Viserys was also fired from his job on the board, but with his severance he was at least able to raise the family he’d made with Alicent, going on to have a further three children with her. And you didn’t doubt that she was probably happy now, with her four children all grown, but there was something about the entire thing that made you incredibly sad for her.

Ping.

Your phone screen lights up just as you pop some leftover pasta into the microwave.

Jace was always sweet. You’d known him a while and he always seemingly had a thing for you, something he desperately cannot keep to himself even if he tried. He’d even asked you on a few dates, once upon a time, but you’d always said you see him as a friend. And gods, you felt like a bitch but you couldn't help how you felt. He was sweet, but a bit too sweet. Like brother sweet. And it would just be too weird.

That didn’t stop him from shooting his shot though.

You hear the jingle of keys as Ellyn shuffles through the door, sinking into the sofa with a sigh having been on her feet all day. She doesn't need to ask for a drink, you already have two mugs ready.

"Pasta?" You ask,

"Nah, I'm good, thanks. Dad took us out"

“How is she?” you ask after a beat, pulling the pasta out and dishing it up for yourself, leaning against the counter.

“Fine, but devastated, obviously” Ellyn sighs, grabbing a mug of tea you’d made for her, “she was looking forward to the Championships”

“I bet she was, bless her”

Ellyn furrows her brows, “She said she couldn’t tell me much…about anything”

You pull a face, “Why not?”

“She said she had to sign an NDA”

You scoff a laugh, "What the fuck? An NDA? Fucking hell, trust Otto to keep her quiet"

“Yeah well, she can’t tell anyone anything, not even her family” Ellyn tuts, burning her tongue slightly on her tea, “She told me Otto reached out to Rhaenys though”

Your face blanches and you look over at your flatmate, “Oh yeah?” you say shakily, “Yeah, um, Rhaenys called me at Storm’s End…telling me about Floris”

“She roping you into it?” she asks with a nod,

“Something like that”

Silence falls and the only sound is you tapping your fingers nervously on the bowl you're holding.

“I won’t do it”

Ellyn frowns, “Why?”

“Because I would feel shitty going for it knowing that it was literally going be Flor-ow!” she pinches your arm, “What was that for!”

“For being dumb” she says smirking, “listen I don’t care. Floris injured herself. It’s not like you’ve stolen her place or anything”

“That’s what it feels like though” you pout, rubbing the spot where she'd pinched you, "trim your fucking nails as well, that hurt"

She pinches you again, albeit not as hard “That’s for being dumb again” she says, “Listen, how many people get personally asked for? To compete in Championships. The Olympics!”

You sigh. Still not entirely convinced.

“Don’t give me that. If you want to do it then go for it. What reason do you have not to?" She asks, giving you a pleading look.

"I don't know! I have like imposters syndrome or something! I've never done Pairs, why does he want me?" You reason, stabbing a piece of penne, "The Targs are big, Ellyn. I'm not sure I'm ready for that…"

She scoffs, "Fuck me, who is?"

Your phone pings again with an email from Rhaenys, detailing the information for the schmoozing event tomorrow. You sigh as you read it.

"Who's that?"

"Rhaenys. Says there's an event tomorrow, the Targs will be there with Otto and she said if I wanted the opportunity I should go and meet them…" you explain, scrolling aimlessly through the details on your phone.

"Do it" Ellyn says, giving you a reassuring smile, "I'll hate you if you don't"

"Ok, ouch"

"Do it then!"

You pout, "But that means I have to shave my leeeegs…"

"I swear to all the gods, I will dump that penne pasta all over your dumb little head if you don't"

You'd laugh, if you didn't know Ellyn. But fortunately, you do, and you know she's deadly serious and absolutely would.

She puts on that pouty little look as well, sticking her bottom lip out, dangling her legs as she sits on the arm of the sofa.

You sigh, "Will you help me find a dress?"

She grins, clapping her hands excitedly, "Can I do your hair as well?"

Rhaenys wasn't kidding when she said it would be lavish.

The car will pick you up around 18:30. It's going to be a fairly formal dress event, but nothing too glitzy. Wear something sophisticated.

Yes ma'am.

As promised, Ellyn went the whole nine yards with helping you pick out a dress, deciding ultimately on a mid length black number with spaghetti straps, taking Rhaenys' advice and not wearing anything too much. That paired with heels and some gold accessories, and with Ellyn having done your hair in waves, it looked entirely professional.

But knowing this didn't help your nerves.

You sat nervously in the back of the car the entire time bouncing one leg, feeling the hot whips of panic at the back of your neck.

Am I overdressed? What if you can see my pantyline? What if I shit myself, I've not got a spare pair of underwear. Is this neckline too low? Will a nipple spill out?

"I know that look" Rhaenys' smooth voice snaps you out of your panic, "You won't be convincing anyone when you look like a slapped arse" she grins.

Rhaenys looks gorgeous as always, dressed in a beautiful sea blue with mesh at the top. Her hair is perfectly braided back without a single strand where it shouldn't be. She's always so classy, it's disgusting really.

"Sorry" you sigh, "I'm nervous"

"The only thing we should be nervous about is if there is wine or not" she retorts with a smile, pulling out her compact to check her lipstick hasn't bled.

"When I was your age it was all different. No licking the proverbial arse, shall we say"

You furrow your brows, "I don't want to be thinking about arse licking in front of Otto Hightower, thank you"

Rhaenys laughs, wiping some lipstick from her lip line, "Just relax. I'll talk you through who is there and what they do"

The car stops and you gather your dress as you step out, looking at the grand looking building in front of you. Rhaenys shuts the door softly as she leads you up the stairs, her heels clicking with each purposeful step.

"You do look lovely tonight, I'm sure there's nothing to be nervous about" she says, looking lovingly down at you and brushing a waved lock of hair out your face.

"I don't look overdressed?"

She scoffs, "Trust me, they will be. They like to make an impression"

A member of staff greets you both at the entrance, slipping your coat off your shoulders to hang up, just as another descends upon you two to offer a glass of Prosecco, which you clutch nervously in your grip, following Rhaenys through the foyer to the function room at the back.

"It's not wine, but at least it's alcoholic" Rhaenys muses as she sips a little, wiping her lipstick mark off the rim after she's done.

The function room is wide and grand, decorated top to bottom with lights and decorations that reflect a glimmer off the large chandelier that hangs overbearingly in the middle of the room. There's a softened chatter that fills the space, a hushed one that you think only people of a certain status are able to converse in.

You scan the room briefly, amongst the sea of heads. Some you know as judges who attend the local competitions. Others who you scarcely recognise from TV, who hold high standing as managers of bigger figure skaters.

It screams old money, or just money in general. There's a large table, with a spread of small bites, as well as staff members going around with canopies and refills of beverages.

It's almost overwhelmingly nice. But stiff-backed, formal, without a hint of carefree nature.

Sounds like figure skating alright, you think, sipping your Prosecco anxiously.

You suddenly feel a chill on your bare arms and shoulders. Perhaps spaghetti straps weren't the best idea.

Rhaenys points her ring clad finger in the corner, "There he is. The man himself" she says, a bit of annoyance to her tone.

When you follow her finger, he's already looking at you. Otto Hightower. He's wearing a dark green suit, his tie perfectly underneath his stiffened collar. His eyes are trained between yourself and your manager, as if trying to figure out a puzzle he can't solve. He stands tall as well, towering over most people at the event.

He's talking to (or rather tolerating) none other than that creepy guy, whose name you barely remember. The one who has been caught on more than one occasion in the women's locker room. After realising Otto is no longer listening, his icy gaze also meets yours, his lips turning into an amused smile of sorts that sends a shiver down your spine.

You swear to all the gods you see his gaze flit to your feet. But you must be imagining it.

Otto crosses the room with purpose in long strides, with a self-assured smirk on his face that is visible beneath his beard.

Rhaenys already has her hand stretched when he takes it to politely kiss her knuckles, "Rhaenys. It has been too long" he greets in a quiet, rasp.

She smirks too, pulling her hand away, "Not long enough, I would say"

He at least has the decency to laugh at her 'joke'.

You feel small when he turns to you, taking your hand to do the same as he asks your name.

"A pleasure. Otto Hightower" he bows his head slightly.

I know who you are, you think. And I'm definitely not freaking out.

"Pleasure is all mine. It's very nice to meet you and thank you for inviting us" you reply, as calm as you are able. Rhaenys beams, as if to say you're doing well.

Otto nods, turning his attention to the other side of the room, where a young man with short-ish silver hair has accidentally broken his champagne flute. His brow seems to lower a little.

"Aegon!" He calls, making the young man snap his head up in surprise, shoving whatever he had in his hand into his mouth hurriedly.

Otto pats Aegon's shoulder as he stands next to him, giving the former a chance to excuse himself, but not before whispering something into his ear.

Aegon is tall, but not as tall as Otto, and his platinum hair is in a cropped choppy style above his shoulders. He's wearing such a dark shade of green, it's nearly black, his white shirt has several of the top buttons undone as well. He flashes his white teeth in a wide smile while his eyes roam over your shoulders, one hand coming to shake yours,

"Nice to meet you. I'm Aegon" he muses. You nod with a friendly smile, your gaze briefly caught by Rhaenys moving away and speaking in a hushed manner with Otto in a way that can only mean business.

"You look horrified" he grins, making you snap your gaze back at him, cheeks hot with embarrassment.

"Oh, do I?" You rub your neck, "it's just nerve-wracking I suppose"

"I don't blame you. We're not all scary when you get to know us"

You smile, slightly relieved at his casual nature, something you chalk up to him being a similar age, "You included?"

He shrugs, "I'm easy going. All this fluff annoys the fuck out of me"

"Inevitable, for the industry we're in" you smirk around the room, the bubbles dissolving on your tongue.

"In any case, I'm looking forward to working with you"

Aegon furrows his brows, confused, "Huh?"

Panic begins to gnaw at your gut, "Aren't we going to be doing Pairs?"

His smile returns, "Oh no! I do Pairs with my sister, Helaena. She's over there" he points out. The woman he's referring to is on the other side of the room, trying to catch a stray moth that had made its way inside. Her cream dress makes her look positively mythical, coupled with her platinum waves cascading down her back.

"Oh right, so…" you start, "...sorry, Otto mentioned me doing Pairs…"

Aegon pokes his cheek with his tongue, as if amused, "Oh yeah. You're going to be with Aemond. Unfortunately"

"Unfortunately?"

Aegon grins, in no attempt to hide his amusement by pressing the champagne flute in his hand to his lips and taking a large sip.

“My brother is complicated. He’s outside having a smoke, but don’t expect conversation”

You open your mouth to ask more, but Otto’s hand clamps over his shoulder, urging him back. Aegon smiles one last time, mouthing good luck. Rhaenys, now with a fresh drink in her fingers, raises her eyebrows at you.

“I’ve spoken with him” she starts, in a hushed tone, taking your arm and leading you to a quiet corner of the room, “He gave me his terms”

“And?” you ask expectantly.

“I gave him mine as well. He wanted you to be signed to his management, which means living in residence for the duration of your contract. They have facilities. A cook, a private rink for practise, a spare room for you-”

“What about El? I can’t just leave her high and dry without a flatmate”

Rhaenys waves the issue away, “I anticipated that, don’t worry. They will cover the cost of your room. You will also be doing Pairs with Aemond, not sure if it was mentioned to you before”

“No it wasn’t” you reply, almost annoyed. “So will Otto be my new manager?”

“Not exactly. He will be handling your competitions and training, but a certain percentage will still come to me, at my behest. I figured you wouldn’t want a change of hands entirely”

“You figured correct” you smirk at her, “What do you think?”

Rhaenys looks across the room, eyeing Otto, who is now speaking to a woman you can only see the back of. She had long wavy auburn hair tied loosely in a ponytail and wears a slim suit fitted perfectly to her figure.

“I think it’s a good opportunity. Everything is paid for and you’d be in with a good shot”

With your lips caught between your teeth in thought, you trace your finger over the rim of your glass, weighing up the options you’ve been presented with. You’re at least grateful that Rhaenys hasn’t just agreed blindly without asking you first. She is a good manager like that. Something you desperately don’t want to slip.

“Okay” you reply with a sigh, your chest deflating at making such a big life decision in such a short space of time, “I’ll do it”

Rhaenys squeezes your arm lovingly, her lips turning up into a smile, “I’ll confirm with him now then”

You watch as her blue gown billows as she walks away, taking another deep breath to ground yourself. Your skin seems to tingle with anticipation, maybe even excitement, wondering what training and residing alongside the Targaryens will mean. Not only that, but with none other than the Sweetheart of Oldtown herself. You wonder what she’s like in real life now, since she was forced away from the business all those years ago she’s kept herself quiet from the press.

Feeling utterly too hot and stuffy, you cross the room, out of the oak french doors that grace the back of the event, slipping out subtly while Rhaenys speaks to Otto once again, joining the chestnut-haired woman.

The chill of the early evening bites at your skin, but a welcome feeling once you press your back against the cool brick, having a moment’s reprieve from the crowds. You pull out your phone, thumbs working quickly to type a message to Ellyn.

Ping.

Um? What the hell is that supposed to mean?!

“You shouldn’t be out here”

You nearly drop your phone jumping out of your skin. The voice seems to come out of nowhere.

But the smell of cigarette smoke wafts into your face with the dull breeze and when the smoke clears, you see who you previously slipped right past, leaning on the other side of the french doors.

He’s tall. Taller than Otto it feels like. And though he hasn’t introduced himself, it isn’t difficult to guess who he is judging by the long platinum hair pulled back into a messy bun, the sharp features only Targaryens seem to possess and the half-hooded, almost annoyed stony stare. Unlike his brother and Otto, he is wearing entirely black, like he’s attending a funeral. His outfit is fitted perfectly, save for the one top button nestled beneath his tie that is left undone.

Aemond Targaryen.

He hasn’t even turned his head all the way to you, his two fingers coming up to his cigarette, pulling it away to blow the smoke from his pouty lips. He taps the ash to the side with his fingers, raising an aggravated eyebrow when you don’t reply.

You swallow nervously, tapping your fingernails on the glass you’re still holding, willing the dryness out of your throat. You’re not sure anyone would be able to deny, he’s handsome. And it’s unlike you to think any man is beautiful, but he is. He probably knows it as well, hence the annoyingly self-assured way he holds himself.

“Needed some air” is all you’re able to say in return, clicking your phone off.

Even as you turn away, in your periphery you see his tall form push off the wall and stride purposefully towards you. He stops just shy of you, holding out the cigarette he was smoking in his fingers as an offer to calm your nerves. Your blood feels icy when you look up at him, having to properly look all the way to even see him, and finally see the other side of his face.

An angry scar runs jagged through his skin, from his forehead to the middle of his cheek, right through his socket and eyebrow. It’s not quite red, but more a dull colour, probably with age. His left eye doesn’t quite look the same as his other, a slightly different shade of blue. Your gaze briefly flits between the two, taking in his features. He’s got such an angular face, it almost looks as if he’s been carved from stone and could be put on display in those fancy museums. But more than anything, something flutters in your belly at the thought of seeing him on the ice, with you.

Shaking your head, you reply softly, “No thanks. I quit”

He shrugs almost imperceptibly, bringing it back to his lips, turning away from you to blow the smoke into the wind. And for some reason, watching his neck flex, his fingers deftly holding the cigarette and his tall, broad stance, it makes your body go all warm.

He doesn’t look back at you when he says, “It’s a glass eye”

“What?”

His gaze flits down finally to you, “You were looking at my eye”

“I wasn’t”

“You were”

You lick your lips anxiously, hot embarrassment creeping in at the revelation you’d been caught admiring him. But Aemond doesn’t smile, he remains stony-faced and impassive.

“I wasn’t going to ask” you respond, crossing your arms, running your palms over your arms that have now erupted with goosebumps. From the chill of the wind or his presence, you’re not sure. Aemond huffs, as if he doesn’t believe you though.

He gestures inside with a kink of his head, “You should be in there. Making connections”

You furrow your brows, “I’m not interested in that”

An amused smile, similar to the one Aegon had done, makes his lips curl up slightly. Before now you weren’t able to see the resemblance.

“Hm, Sure you’re not” he muses, pushing the cigarette into the brick next to you to stub it out, “Let me guess. You just love to skate. Skating is your life and it’s all just a bit of fun?”

Your lips part in annoyance at his blatant rudeness and the fact he is so openly judging you before bothering to properly get to know you.

“You-”

“You’ll be eaten alive” he muses, with a lazy smirk, walking backwards a few paces, he stuffs his hands in his pockets, “I’m not sure you can handle it”

Before you can even say anything, he gives a low laugh, deep in his chest, as if he’s so pleased with himself at getting a reaction, before striding back inside, back into the hustle and bustle of the event inside.

Irritation eats at your insides. It’s clear he’s only said what he did to draw a reaction and he’d nearly fucking got one. And you’d be lying to yourself if you said that you didn’t want to slap that stupid, self-assured look off his face when he expressed a kind of pride at talking down to you. As handsome as he is, a shitty personality paired with a nepo-baby attitude dulls the warmth in your gut.

I’m not sure you can handle it.

A shuddered, exasperated breath runs through your nose with the anger that builds inside.

“Fucking asshole”

I’ll show him.

Bold means I couldn't tag!

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[geekynerfherder]

'Star Wars: Prequel Trilogy' by PhaseRunner.

Officially licensed 24" x 36" giclee print, in a numbered limited edition of 350 for $60 each and $170 for the 3 print set; and as a 16" x 24" 3D lenticular print on 1mm PET with flip effect, in a limited edition of 300, with numbered COA and BNG hologram of authenticity, for $80 each, and $320 for the 3 print set.

On sale Friday November 1 at 12pm ET through Bottleneck Gallery.

[physalian]

On Hyper Independent Characters (and how not to make them the bad guy)

So many characters with “trust issues” are painted out to be cynical little gremlins who just need to ~open their hearts~ and ~let the love in~ like doing so, repeatedly, has only proven them right every single time, but this one love interest will swoop in and save the day.

The people who write these characters tend to do so in bad faith, as if their fears and trust issues are unfounded nonsense, like they’re wrong and Negative Nellys for being wary.

So!

From experience (thus this is hella biased), here’s some thoughts on writing an independent character with trust issues that isn’t belittling.

1. It’s likely not that kind of trust they have issues with

I said this before a while ago, but “trust issues” paired with an extreme sense of self-reliance isn’t “I think everyone is a liar,” but rather “I think everyone is unreliable”. It might stem from a place of constantly being let down, of constantly having the people in their life drop the ball on major events, but also little things, even something as simple as “hey yeah I’ll totally do the dishes” and then they continue to sit there, forcing the person to be a nag about it, or just do it themselves.

These kinds of personalities tend to grow up surrounded by unkept and empty promises, where, while it might not be every single occasion, it happens one too many times for them to keep giving the benefit of the doubt. Even when people have the best of intentions and mean it when they say they’ll do XYZ in the moment, and they really just forgot, the person they made the promise to is impatiently waiting for them to remember 12-day-old dishes.

2. Why don’t they just remind people to keep their promises?

If you’re in my boat, many people with commitment issues are also narcissists or just mean, who, if you even gently remind them, make you out to be a nagging, impatient brat. And to avoid hearing that again, you just don’t speak up. Too many times where ‘forgetting’ has been from a source of a weird power fantasy, intentionally screwing you over, leaves people sitting in a state of unknowing whether it’s benign neglect or very much on purpose, and afraid to voice their concerns to be proven right.

If you’re not in my boat, chronic “forgetters” aren’t going to change without intervention. So if I ask you to do the dishes once, and you forget, that’s one thing. If I ask you twice, three times, four times, nagging over and over again, then the benefit of the doubt is shredded, and I can’t help but assume that the “forgetting” is on purpose. Either weaponized incompetence or something more benign, doesn’t matter. Even if you have some executive dysfunction, that's an explanation, not an excuse, and the people you live with aren't your maids.

Either way, these personalities might grow up with a whole slew of self-worth issues, and be reluctant to make plans with people, invite friends to important events, or get excited about big milestones, because they’re so used to people they care about “forgetting” or canceling last minute that the only one they can trust to reliably show up is themselves.

3. Why don’t they just communicate these fears?

See the “narcissists” in point 2

4. Isn’t it lonely never letting people in?

Fuck yeah, it is. The thing is, though, that if you spend your whole life learning how to do everything alone—pay your bills, do ‘couple’ or ‘friend’ activities, run errands, take yourself out to places—the idea of having to squeeze in the wants and needs of someone else might start to sound incredibly inconvenient.

If you’re so used to being on your own schedule and reaping the benefits of being a party of 1 in crowded spaces (I just took myself to dinner at a place with an hour long wait, able to be seated immediately at the last remaining barstool), of not having to wait for someone else to confirm plans, negotiate who’s driving, negotiate a time to meet up, food to order, a movie to see, a roller coaster to ride, a game or streaming service to buy—everything is entirely under your control, sacrificing convenience for the chance that the person you invite actually shows up on time and is invested as you are isn’t really worth the risk.

That's not to say I don't enjoy when I get to do things with friends, but I can equally enjoy doing things alone as opposed to whining about it.

Personally, while I can daydream about having a romantic partner, that thought is always immediately followed up by the understanding that they’ll be an inconvenience to my independence. But I’m someone who’s always had to do the emotional labor in a relationship, who’s always the most organized, the most mature, the most level-headed in tough situations. Always been the person in groupwork who does all the work. The idea of being “a team” is a fantasy meant for other people. “Team” to me is “me and this deadweight that I have to drag around”.

5. How I’d like to see this represented in characters

Dropping “the one” into their lives and having this person swept up, broken out of their little pessimistic shell, in some epic romance, as if they only needed to find the right person and nothing at all goes wrong… is bad faith.

It’s bad faith because it minimizes this kind of independence as just a little mood problem that can be fixed right quick, that it’s inherently wrong—what was all the fuss about?

What I’d like to see is examples that prove they’re not crazy. Big and little things. Dishes, and big events. Then, they can meet “the one,” but not without some trial and error. A lifetime of “people suck and are unreliable” isn’t going to be snapped away bibbidi bobbidi boo after one good date. This magical person will have to show up, and keep showing up, and keep showing up, and the one time they don’t, because they won’t, then A and B can hash it out like adults.

6. How this person might act

I’ve never actually met somebody like me and we’d either be best friends or loathe each other. But this person might be the most reliable friend you’ve ever had, because they’re so afraid of becoming like everyone in their life who let them down before. If you ask a favor of them, it gets done with supernatural haste.

This person might also have their own commitment issues, where instead of failing to keep their promises, they punish themselves by keeping promises they hate, showing up out of spite and resentment because they said they would, lest they be called a hypocrite.

They might under-share or not speak up about accomplishments in their life until the time for hype and anticipation has passed, lest they share expecting the same level of excitement only to be met with apathy. They might not show visible excitement about objectively exciting things, because they’re so used to plans falling through that they won’t believe something is happening until they are physically in the location and it’s staring them in the face.

Thus, they might look frequently bored or unhappy and unmoved by something important to you, or something you thought they’d like (especially if you’ve let them down before, trust is a privilege, not a right).

7. What I’d like people to understand most of all

First, that some of us tend to live by the “if you want something done right do it yourself” mantra, so actually asking somebody for help with something is admitting that X cannot be done alone, which makes failure to keep a promise even worse. As in, if A goes out of their way to admit they can’t do F alone and risk being let down to ask B to do this one little thing for them, and B still drops the ball, A is going to sit there and think “this is why I have trust issues”.

Can’t speak for everyone, but yes I do acknowledge that the suffering in silence isn’t helping anyone and am working on it. Counterpoint: Weaponized incompetence is very real and an adult should not have to remind another adult to keep their living space clean, at the bare minimum. Agreeing to do a thing is at least equal responsibility on the inviter and invitee and "you didn't remind me" isn't a valid excuse.

But most importantly, if you have a friend or relative who is fiercely independent, I’d implore you to learn one thing: Do not make promises that you can’t keep. And if shit happens and you have to cancel even when you had the best of intentions, have the decency to tell them and make the best effort you can to reschedule ASAP, instead of putting the impetus on them to do the rescheduling. Make it absolutely clear that you do, in fact, care, and weren’t going out of some apathetic sense of obligation.

I cannot count the amount of times I have asked a friend to do something for me, they eagerly agreed, and then my very real deadlines come and go and they say absolutely nothing, so I have to nag them, and nag them, and then they turn it back on me with a “obviously you can see that I’m busy and you’re not paying me for this” when all they had to do was say “no I can’t help you” (two whole humans; we are not friends anymore).

The ability to be approached with a request for a favor, step back and think about it, and go “No, I don’t think I can do that in that time frame/at this moment I’m going through a lot/with the skill the task requires” is apparently ridiculously rare. I’d infinitely prefer a no upfront than a yes, bank on that yes, and then wait around hoping someone follows through.

Not saying anything is really rude. If you agree to X, the person who asked you is fully expecting you to do X. They shouldn’t have to be lining up backup plans and last minute helpers scrambling to do the job you promised would get done.

—

Not exaggerating when I say it happens in so many areas. I’ve needed very important things like recommendation letters, or actual paid beta readers on a very hard deadline and still scrambled at the last minute to find replacements that sometimes cost real money for rush fees. I’ve been left waiting at an event for an hour minimum only to finally receive a ‘hey I can’t come’ text and then go home. I’ve told people multiple times, “hey, if you’re going to do X, please do it like this and have some consideration for my things that you’re borrowing” and just… be ignored.

As somebody who gets whatever’s asked of me done immediately, no matter how busy I am, man is it hard to keep accepting “sorry I forgot” as an excuse, from multiple people, multiple times.

The nice thing, though, the big benefit of hyper-independence is that I have learned so many skills out of a compulsion to just do it myself instead of gambling with the accountability of another flighty human. Handyman things for my home and my car, but artistic things, too. So there’s that.

[theinkphantom]

Guide to Phantom Blot stories (Part 1)

I've made already this guide, in a google doc (for reading online and legally) but it would be more informative and more visible also less messy to do on my blog. Part 1 would the essential albums, Part 2 some stories i recommend and series.

The most easiest and my recommended order to read phantom blot comics would be this :

Outwits the Phantom Blot/The Phantom Blot's Double Mystery, are the most important ones to read and the most acclaimed from him (and one of the greatest stories of mickey mouse according to coa inducks). They're translated in english and can be watch online with Amazon. [X] [X]

After that, there's the Paul Murry collection, i don't know if i can recommend except for one story who was good (The return of Phantom Blot), but if you want to see for the history of phantom blot you can check out for yourself, even it changes completely that gritty atmosphere from the twos stories, it's available online and in english. [X]

Here's why i've made this post, there's a new collection from topolino around Casty stories, including two books for all the stories around phantom blot written by him. Despite these are italian and not online, i recommend to buy those ones and translate via deepl app/google lens. These are really good stories about modern phantom blot in general, and you get interviews. Hoping to see this collection in english, one day! You can get via panini.it and soon Amazon. [X] [X]

The well acclaimed series Darkenblot written by Casty and concept/art by Lorenzo Pastrovicchio, for this one, you have two choices. (despite you can buy the first one in english. I am hoping we will get to see the rest, one day. )

You can read online all the stories in German via amazon, and it's quite cheap. (the downside was the bland typo and saturated colors.) [X] for uk/usa readers, you need to create another account and change address to a european one (like german country.), with that you can access to all online german duck comics via amazon.

Or you just buy the collection of 3 volumes in italian. (you get extra bonus like concepts + really cool covers.)

And there's the Marco Nucci stories, saddly there's not yet a album regrouping all the stories he made around phantom blot. Except one, who is the Nightmare island, only in italian of course (and quite pricey...). I will probably edit if we do get more of his stories one day. [X]

[solarpunkwitchcraft]

"Merrimack Station, which is New England’s last running coal plant, will stop operating in 2028.

Granite Shore Power announced the closure of the Bow plant as part of a settlement agreement signed Wednesday, resolving litigation brought by the Conservation Law Foundation and the Sierra Club. Granite Shore Power will commit to shutting down coal-fired generators at the Schiller Station in Portsmouth by 2025. Currently, that plant has the capability to burn coal but hasn’t used its coal-fired generation since 2020.

Merrimack Station is a peaker plant, used to provide power on the region’s hottest or coldest days. In New England, coal makes up less than 1% of the region’s energy.

Granite Shore Power says the two plants will become “renewable energy parks.” Schiller Station is set to host a battery storage system that can provide power to the grid when there’s a lot of demand, and could serve as storage for offshore wind power.

Merrimack Station is expected to host about 100 megawatts of solar, along with more battery storage."